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THE  HISTORICAL    TRAGEDY  OF 

JULIUS   CAESAR. 


That  book  in  many's  eyes  doth  share  the  glory 
That  in  gold  clasps  locks  in  the  golden  Story. 

Romeo  and  Juliet. 


Typical  Tales 


OF 


FANCY,    ROMANCE,    AND    HISTORY 


FROM 


>i)afcespeare's  ^laps: 


IN   NARRATIVE    FORM,  LARGELY  IN   SHAKESPEARE'S    WORDS,    WITH 
DIALOGUE  PASSAGES  IN   THE   ORIGINAL  DRAMATIC  TEXT. 


EDITED    BY 

ROBERT   R.   RAYMOND,  A.M., 

LATE    PRINCIPAL   OF   THE   BOSTON   SCHOOL   OF   ORATORY;     FORMERLY    PROFESSOR   OF 

THE   ENGLISH    LANGUAGE   AND    LITERATURE   IN    THE    BROOKLYN 

POLYTECHNIC   INSTITUTE. 


NEW   YORK: 
FORDS,   HOWARD,   AND    HULBERT. 


/ 


TRaSfT 


Copyright,  1881,  1892, 
By  Fords,  Howard,  &  Hulbert. 


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John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


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PREFACE. 


f#HE  purpose  of  this  book  needs  no  apology.  The 
period  when  Shakespeare  may  be  effectively  and 
profitably  introduced  to  the  youthful  mind  arrives 
earlier  in  the  life  of  the  child  than  is  generally 
supposed.  The  phenomenon  of  the  intelligent 
youngster,  stealing  away  into  the  family  library  to 
revel  in  the  mysterious  delights  of  the  "  Tempest," 
or  the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  or  to  steep  himself  in  the  soul- 
searching  horrors  of  "  Macbeth,"  is  familiar.  To  such  a  student  of  the 
magic  page,  all  its  critical  difficulties  are  as  though  they  were  not,  —  so 
unconsciously,  yet  so  swiftly  and  surely,  are  they  disposed  of.  The 
prophet-heart  of  the  poet  is  laid  upon  the  child-heart  :  the  throb  is 
unison  :  the  nascent  powers  of  the  young  soul  spring  to  life  in  the 
contact. 

Now,  one  of  the  factors  in  this  curious  problem  is,  undoubtedly,  the 
inalienable  right  of  "  skipping."  What  the  young  mind  can  assimilate, 
it  appropriates  ;  the  rest  is  passed  over.  It  is  the  loss  necessarily  in- 
curred in  this  process  that  the  present  version  —  of  story  and  play 
together  —  proposes  to  supply.  In  other  words,  it  assumes  to  "skip" 
for  the  youth,  judiciously ;  bridging  the  dreary  void  of  omitted  passages 
with  a  lively  representation  of  the  original,  in  which  the  language  of  the 
author  is  to  be  reproduced  only  so  far  as  is  consistent  with  the  interest 
of  the  young  reader,  —  in  this  case,  the  prime  consideration.  Similar 
service  has  been  attempted  also  with  reference  to  single  obscure  expres- 
sions, occurring  in  connections  otherwise  attractive ;  the  aim  being  to 


VI 


PREFACE. 


put  the  reader  in  possession  of  the  entire  work,  so  far  as  he  is  capable 
of  receiving  it.  In  short,  the  effort  is  to  do  systematically  and  intelli- 
gently what  thousands  of  parents  and  teachers  have  long  been  trying  to 
do,  in  order  to  awaken  in  the  young  a  love  for  the  Great  Master  which 
should  bear  its  best  fruit  at  a  later  day.  Of  all  this  number  perhaps 
not  one  has  failed  to  dream,  at  some  time  or  other,  of  some  such  work 
as  the  one  now  offered.  The  wish  would  necessarily  become  the  father 
to  the  thought.  It  is  in  the  successful  execution  of  the  work  that  the 
main  difficulty  lies ;  and  this,  in  the  present  case,  remains  to  be  tested. 

In  attempting  to  carry  out  the  plan  suggested  by  the  publishers, 
the  editor  availed  himself  of  the  literary  taste  and  intelligence  of  Mrs. 
Louisa  T.  Craigin,  an  author  well  known  for  her  many  successful  ven- 
tures in  catering  for  the  youthful  mind.  To  her  valuable  aid,  especially 
in  the  earlier  stages  of  its  preparation,  the  present  volume  owes  much 
of  its  interest. 

That  this  version  makes  no  pretence  to  critical  accuracy,  hardly 
needs  saying.  Such  a  claim  would  be  at  war  with  its  very  object.  Yet, 
while  not  assuming  to  take  account  of  the  nice  questions  which  so  legit- 
imately occupy  the  attention  of  the  Shakespearian  editors,  it  is  believed 
to  contain  no  unwarrantable  departure  from  the  texts  most  generally 
approved.  No  larger  latitude  of  choice  between  disputed  passages  has 
been  used  than  some  of  the  best  authorities  habitually  indulge  in. 
Wherever  a  "  conjectural  emendation,"  from  a  respectable  source,  has 
seemed  to  furnish  a  sense  more  facile  to  the  young  reader,  it  has  been 
welcomed  to  the  present  text,  without  any  very  weighty  sense  of  critical 
responsibility.  Any  obscure  single  word  or  short  phrase  in  the  original 
page  has  been  supplanted  by  a  near-enough  synonym,  when  it  could  be 
done  without  violence  to  the  metre.  In  all  such  cases  of  substitution, 
the  new  word  or  phrase  has  been  enclosed  in  brackets.  But  such  changes 
as  ifior  the  obsolete  an;  its  for  his,  when  the  neuter  sense  is  intended ; 
and  the  definitive  use  of  would  and  should,  in  accordance  with  the 
idioms  of  our  own  day  instead  of  the  interchangeable  usage  of  Shake- 
speare's,—  being  regarded  as  part  of  the  universally  accepted  modern- 
izing process,. —  have  been  adopted  without  sign  or  apology.  When  the 
substituted  expression  could  not  find  place  in  the  text,  on  account  of 
rhythmical  difficulties,  it  has  been  put  in  a  glossary  at  the  bottom  of 
the  page,  and  referred  to  by  small  figures.  For  more  extended  eluci- 
dation—  in  the  few  cases  where  such  has  been  thought  indispensable  — 
recourse  has  been  had  to  foot-notes,  referred  to  by  small  letters.     Pas- 


PREFACE. 


Vll 


sages  confessedly  obscure,  or  requiring  very  elaborate  explanation,  have 
been  reduced  to  the  form  of  narrative,  with  the  original  language  pre- 
served as  nearly  as  possible.  In  this  connection  it  will  be  observed, 
that  while,  in  the  effort  to  keep  the  narrative  spirited  and  natural,  the 
sponge  has  passed  freely  over  such  archaisms  as  might  tend  to  repel 
the  young  reader,  care  has  been  taken  to  preserve  the  "  marrys "  and 
"pr'ythees,"  and  similar  minute  colloquialisms,  which,  as  having  a 
certain  "  smack  of  the  time,"  he  has  generally  appeared  to  appreciate 
and  relish. 

The  plays  here  given  were  selected  for  the  double  reason,  that  they 
represent  three  distinct  types  of  Shakespeare's  dramas,  and  that,  in 
different  ways,  they  seemed  peculiarly  adapted  to  interest  the  youthful 
mind. 

A  favorable  reception  of  the  present  volume  will  be  acknowledged 
by  the  production  of  others,  which  are  already  in  preparation. 

R.  R.  R. 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Page 

Italian  Scene General  titiepage 

William  Shakespeare 7 

Trinity  Church  at  Stratford,  on  the  Avon 8 

Shakespeare  Bust,  in  the  Chancel 10 

Titlepage.     "A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream."     Copied  from  Old  Carved 

Book-Cover n 

Athens iy 

Theseus  and  Hippolyta :8 

Helena  and  Hermia io 

Room  in  the  Cottage  of  Quince  the  Carpenter 22 

Bottom.     "  A  part  to  tear  a  cat  in  " 24 

All.     "  That  would  hang  us,  every  mother's  son  "... 25 

A  Wood  near  Athens .....;....  26 

Puck  and  Fairy 27 

Puck  and  the  Gossips 29 

Cupid,  all  armed ; ,, 

Titania.     "  A  roundel,  and  a  fairy  song  " *..'...  33 

The  Fairies'  Errands 34 

Oreron  and  Titania 36 

Puck  squeezing  Juice  from  the  Enchanted  Flower 37 

Puck  in  Ecstasies 42 

Bottom  and  the  Fairies 44 

Oberon  awaiting  Puck 46 

Hermia  and  Demetrius 47 

Puck  misleading  the  Young  Men  in  the  Forest 50 


4  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Page 

Bottom  with  his  Ass's  Head 52 

TlTANIA   AND    BOTTOM 54 

Bottom  Perplexed 56 

Philostrate  before  the  Duke  and  Duchess .  59 

The  Play  of  "  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  " 62 

"  Lion  " 64 

The  Bergomask  Dance 67 

Puck's  Good-Night 69 

Oberon  and  Robin  Goodfellow 71 

Wanderers  Astray  after  Robin 72 

Robin  and  the  Colt j$ 

Robin  returning  to  the  Realms  of  Air 74 

Robin  Goodfellow's  Dance 75 

Titlepage.     "As  You  Like  It."     Moonlight  m  the  Forest  of  A rden  ...  77 

Old  Adam  and  Orlando 81 

Orlando's  Victory  in  the  Wrestling  Match      .........  83 

Touchstone  and  the  Princesses 87 

Rosalind  gives  Orlando  the  Gold  Chain 91 

Celia  and  Rosalind 93 

Deer  in  the  Forest  of  Arden 98 

Orlando  and  Adam 10 1 

CORIN   AND    SlLVIUS •      ■  I04 

Orlando  interrupting  the  Banquet 109 

Corin  and  Touchstone  in  the  Forest 115 

Rosalind  reading  Orlando's  Verses  .     .     .     .     .     .     . 117 

Ganymede  and  Aliena  meet  Orlando 120 

The  Mock-Marriage 127 

Oliver  brings  the  Bloody  Napkin 130 

Rosalind  and  the  Throng  of  Lovers 136 

Titlepage.     "Julius  Cesar.  "     The  Head,  a  Portrait  from  the  A  ntiqite  .     .  141 

Flavius  berating  the  People 152 

Cesar  refusing  the  Crown 162 

Cicero  and  Casca 165 

Brutus  at  his  Window 167 

Brutus  in  his  Garden 169 


ILLUSTRATIONS.  5 

Page 

Brutus  and  the  Conspirators 172 

Portia  entreats  her  Husband    ...............  17 S 

Cesar's  Procession  to  the  Capitol 183 

Cesar  dead  in  the  Senate-House 187 

Mark  Antony  unveils  Cesar's  dead  Body 198 

The  Triumvirate 2°3 

Cassius  and  Brutus 2°9 

The  Ghost  of  Cesar 2I2 

Messala,  the  Messenger •'   •  2J6 

plndarus  reports  the  battle  to  cassius 2l8 

Brutus  dead  on  the  Battle-Field 224 

***  Together  with  numerous  ornamental  and  symbolical  vignettes, 
head  and  tail  pieces,  etc. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Preface     .... 

• v 

Memoir  of  William  Shakespeare 7 

A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream IX 

Introduction 

Narrative  and  Text .  I7 

The  Pranks  of  Robin  Goodfellow 71 

As  You  Like  It 

77 

Introduction 

79 

Narrative  and  Text 8r 

Julius  Cesar 

J 141 

Introduction    .... 

J43 

Narrative  and  Text      ... 

x47 


%r 


'If   hwWllfci 


lwii'"i«4 


*0li'i1||!lil|il,.«i:|il|ii!ifnim|i|i|i  li V  \tmai\i,  "> 


[BOUT  three  hundred  years  ago  there   lived   in   England  a 
poet,  whose  wonderful  works  have  been  more  and  more  prized 
from  the  time  when  they  were  written  until  now  ;  and  to-day 
they  are  the  delight  and  admiration  of  all  the  reading  people 
of  Europe  and  America.     His  name  was  William  Shakespeare. 

He  was  born  on  the  23d  of  April,  1564,  in  a  lovely  country  town 
called  Stratford,  situated  on  the  banks  of  the  winding  and  peaceful  river 
Avon.  His  parents  were  plain,  respectable  people,  and  William  was 
sent  to  the  grammar  school  of  the  town,  where  he  made  pretty  good  use 
of  his  time,  if  we  may  judge  from  his  after-life  and  his  works,  which  show 
not  only  the  greatness  of  his  genius,  but  the  extent  and  variety  of  his 
knowledge.  It  seems  certain  that  he  must  have  begun  very  early  to 
cultivate  his  mind  by  study. 


8  MEMOIR. 

When  he  was  only  eighteen  years  of  age  he  married  the  daughter  of 
a  farmer  in  a  neighboring  village,  and  before  he  was  twenty-two  years 
old  he  had  a  wife  and  three  little  children  to  support.  This  was  probably 
the  reason  that  he  went  up  to  London  about  this  time  to  seek  his  for- 
tune in  that  great  city;  though  there  is  a  story,  which  has  been  handed 
down  from  generation  to  generation  among  the  good  people  of  Stratford, 


TRINITY    CHURCH    AT    STRATFORD,    ON    THE    AVON. 


that  William,  who  had  been  a  rather  frolicsome  boy  and  was  very  fond  of 
hunting,  had  got  into  trouble  with  a  rich  neighbor  for  poaching,  or  shoot- 
ing game  without  permission  on  his  grounds.  If  this  be  true,  the  act 
was  one  which  is  not  for  a  moment  to  be  defended  ;  but  we  ought  to 
remember  that  the  English  law  was  far  more  strict  on  such  matters  than 
ours,  and  although  the  youngster  made  himself  liable  to  severe  punish- 
ment, his  fault  was  not  much  greater  than  that  of  stealing  apples  from  an 
orchard  would  be  in  our  day.    There  is  happily  some  ground  to  doubt  the 


MEMOIR.  9 

truth  of  the  story  ;  but  it  is  sure,  that  for  one  reason  or  another  our  hero 
did  go  up  to  London  in  the  year  1586,  or  thereabouts,  and  did  not  return 
to  his  native  village  to  reside  until  he  became  possessed  of  considerable 
property. 

There  are  various  things  told  about  his  adventures  in  the  great 
metropolis,  which  do  not  appear  to  be  well  established.  It  is  even  said 
that  he  earned  his  first  pennies  there  by  holding  the  horses  of  gentlemen 
who  had  ridden  on  horseback  to  attend  the  theatre.  But  whether  this  be 
true  or  not,  we  know  that  in  a  very  few  years  he  had  written  several  fine 
poems,  which  brought  him  the  favor  and  friendship  of  some  of  the  first 
noblemen  and  gentlemen  of  London.  We  know,  too,  that  he  became  an 
actor  in  one  of  these  theatres  ;  and  then  began  to  write  plays  to  be  per- 
formed in  them.  These  plays  became  very  popular  ;  for  nothing  so  beau- 
tiful, so  witty,  and  so  interesting  in  every  way,  had  been  seen  on  the 
stage  before.  Soon  they  attracted  the  attention  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  who 
was  then  on  the  throne  of  England  ;  and  it  is  said  both  of  her  and  her 
successor,  King  James  the  First,  that  no  amusement  delighted  them  so 
much  as  to  witness  a  play  of  Shakespeare's.  They  extended  their  royal 
patronage  to  the  poet,  and  he  prospered  accordingly.  He  shortly  became 
one  of  the  managers  of  the  Globe  Theatre,  which  was  open  at  the  top, 
and  used  in  summer  weather,  and  also  of  the  Blackfriars  Theatre,  which 
was  roofed  for  use  in  winter. 

In  this  position  he  continued  several  years,  writing  plays  for  his 
theatres,  and  sometimes  taking  part  in  the  performance  of  them.  There 
were,  in  all,  thirty-seven  of  these  dramas,  some  tragedies  and  some  come- 
dies, and  of  course  his  works  increased  in  power  and  beauty  as  he  grew 
in  years  and  experience.  During  this  time  he  revisited  his  native  place 
once  every  year,  and  at  last,  in  the  year  16.12  or  1613,  he  retired  to  it,  to 
spend  the  remainder  of  his  days.  He  was  then  about  forty-eight  years 
old,  and  was  possessed  of  a  comfortable  fortune,  gained  by  his  own  talents 
and  industry. 

Meanwhile  his  only  son  had  died,  and  shortly  after  his  arrival  in 
Stratford  his  eldest  daughter  married  ;  but  he  settled  down  with  what 
remained  of  his  family,  and  with  a  fair  prospect  of  a  peaceful  and  happy 


IO 


MEMOIR. 


old  age.  But,  though  yet  in  the  prime  of  life,  his  days  were  now  draw- 
ing to  a  close,  and  on  the  23d  of  April,  1616,  his  fifty-second  birthday, 
he  breathed  his  last.  He  was  buried  under  the  chancel-floor  of  the 
beautiful  old  Stratford  church.  His  gravestone  bears,  this  curious 
inscription  :  — 


Good  frend  for  Iesvs  sake  forbeare, 
To  digg  the  dust  encloased  heare  : 

e  t 

Bleste  be  y  man  y  spares  thes  stones, 
And  cvrst  be  he  y  moves  my  bones. 


There  has  been  not  a  little  desire  on  the  part  of  certain  people  to  look 
into  this  hallowed  tomb,  and  perhaps  to  inspect  the  skull  that  held  this 
mighty  brain,  but,  as  you  may  well  suppose,  nobody  has  been  found 
hardy  enough  to  brave  that  fearful  curse.  So  this  consecrated  resting- 
place  of  the  world's  greatest  poet,  together  with  a  rude  likeness  carved 
in  stone  by  some  village  artist,  adorning  the  wall  above  it,  yet  remains  to 
gratify  the  curiosity  and  awaken  the  reverence  of  thousands  of  pilgrims 
who  visit  it  from  all  quarters  of  the  world. 


A   MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S   DREAM. 


INTRODUCTION. 


'MONG  the  earliest  of  those  dramas  which  were  writ- 
ten by  Shakespeare  for  his  theatre- was  one  which  he 
called  "  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream." 

This  title  immediately  leads  us  to  inquire,  Who 
is  the  dreamer,  —  the  poet,  the  characters  of  the 
drama,  or  the  spectators  ?  It  is  not  very  easy  to 
reply.  First,  the  whole  composition  seems  to  have  passed  through  the 
mind  of  the  poet  like  a  lovely,  fantastic  dream,  —  a  procession  of  shadows 
thrown  by  a  magic  lantern  on  a  screen.  Then,  much  that  passes 
in  the  play  seems  only  fit  to  be  regarded  as  a  dream  by  the  charac- 
ters themselves,  who  are  made  the  sport  of  fairies.  And,  finally,  it 
comes  before  the  audience  under  the  notion  of  a  dream.  It  is  a 
curious  composition,  full  of  exquisite  poetry  and  the  jolliest  fun.  In  it 
are  mingled  a  strange  variety  of  personages,  —  dukes,  queens,  lords, 
ladies,  young  lovers,  clownish  mechanics,  and  the  dearest  little  elves, 
from  their  royal  rulers,  who  king  and  queen  it  with  a  pretty  dignity,  to 
the  tricksy  sprites  that  plague  poor  mortals  with  their  pranks.  And  then 
the  conduct  of  some  of  the  persons  is  so  strange  and  unnatural  :  their 
jealousies,  their  petty  passions,  and  their  little  meannesses  are  such  as 
might  well  have  been  born  in  a  haunted  grove,  —  the  children  of  magic 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

and  the  moonlight.  We  might  be  amused  with  their  fantastic  doings  as 
the  shifting  shadows  of  a  dream,  but  would  never  think  of  trying  them 
Dy  the  waking  judgments  of  the  cold,  gray  morning. 

The  key  to  the  whole  matter  is  given  by  Puck,  the  merry  hobgoblin 
of  the  play,  in  these  words  of  the  epilogue,  or  conclusion  :  — 

"  If  we  shadows  have  offended, 
Think  but  this  —  and  all  is  mended  : 
That  you  have  but  slumbered  here, 
While  these  visions  did  appear  ; 
And  this  weak  and  idle  theme, 
No  more  yielding  but  a  dream. 
Gentles,  do  not  reprehend." 

We   must    remember    all    the  way   through,   then,   that    the  author 
dreams,  —  a  restless,  brilliant,  teeming   vision,   such 


"  As  youthful  poets  dream 
On  summer  eve  by  haunted  stream  ;  " 


and  that  we  are  dreaming  too,  —  dreaming  with  Shakespeare!  Happy 
mortals  we,  that  we  may  take  him  by  the  hand  and  fly  with  him  through 
the  wide  heaven  of  his  glorious  fancy  ! 

It  remains  to  be  said,  as  to  the  fitness  of  this  title,  that  though  the 
time  of  the  action  is  the  month  of  May,  which  seems  to  us  too  early  to 
be  called  midsitmmer,  we  must  remember  that  May  in  those  days  was 
reckoned  half  a  month  later  than  now,  and  was  a  great  deal  warmer.  It 
might  have  been  called  the  "  midsummer's  spring,"  or  the  beginning  of 
midsummer,  as  the  dawn  of  the  morning  is  called  the  "day-spring"  in 
the  Bible.  Indeed  we  shall  find  this  very  expression  used  in  the  play 
(p.  30),  in  words  addressed  by  the  Queen  to  the  King  of  the  Fairies.  This 
was,  more  than  any  other,  the  fairies'  time,  when  (they  say),  if  you  knew 
where  to  look,  you  could  see  the  tiny  folk  dancing  in  green  circles  in  the 
moonlight. 

The  place  of  the  play  is  said  to  be  "  Athens,  and  a  wood  near  Athens," 
but,  really,  it  is  just  Dream-land,  —  an  Athens,  and  a  grove,  and  a  company 
of  people,  that  existed  nowhere  but  in  the  beautiful  fancy  of  Shakespeare. 


INTRODUCTION. 


15 


No  other  poet  has  ever  known  so  well  as  he  how  to  catch  the  words 
and  understand  the  ways  of  Fairy-land,  and  explain  them  to  the  world  of 
mortals.  These  words  and  ways,  therefore,  it  shall  be  the  aim  of  this 
little  book  to  give  you  in  the  very  language  of  Shakespeare.  We  will 
add  to  this  (also  in  the  words  of  the  drama)  the  doings  of  the  clown- 
ish play-actors  who  are  brought  into  such  funny  contrast  with  the 
fairies.  The  rest  we  will  tell  in  clear  and  simple  story,  hoping  that  the 
day  is  not  far  distant  when  you  will  read  the  whole  work  for  yourselves, 
and  then  recognize  in  it  the  features  of  an  old  and  beloved  friend. 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


i. 


Act  I.     Scene  i. 


"NCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  a  mighty  hero,  Theseus,  Duke 
of  Athens.  It  was  he  who  conquered  the  Centaurs,  a  strange 
and  warlike  race,  half  man  and  half  horse  ;  who  slew  the 
monster  Minotaur,  with  the  body  of  a  man  and  the  head 
of  a  bull,  that  devoured  thirty  Athenian  youths  and  maidens 
every  year  ;  who  sailed  with  the  Argonauts  to  find  the  Golden 
Fleece,  which  was  guarded  by  a  fierce  dragon ;  and  engaged 
in  many  other  famous  expeditions,  winning  great  renown  for  his  exploits.  At 
last  he  had  overcome  in  battle  those  terrible  warrior-women,  the  Amazons.     At  the 


iS  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 

time  our  story  begins,  he  had  just  returned  from  this  final  victory,  and  was  about 
to   marry  Hippolyta,  the   Amazon   queen,  in   his   palace   at   Athens.     He   says 

to  her,  — 

Hippolyta,  I  wooed  thee  with  my  sword, 
And  won  thy  love,  doing  thee  injuries  ; 
But  I  will  wed  thee  in  another  key, 
With  pomp,  with  triumph,  and  with  revelling. 

Great  preparations  were  making 
for  the  wedding,  which  was  to  take 
place  in  four  days.     While  the  be- 
trothed lovers  were  talking  of  their 
happiness,  Egeus,  an  old  Athenian 
lord,     entered,    together    with    his 
daughter   Hermia,  and   two   young 
Athenians,  named  Lysander  and  Demetrius. 
The   old    man    approached   the    Duke, 
and  said  that  he  came  to   complain  of  the 
conduct  of  this  daughter.   The  youth  Deme- 
trius  had   his   consent   to   marry   her,    but 
Lysander   had  bewitched  her  with  rhymes, 
with   presents   of    flowers   and   sweetmeats, 
and  with  songs  sung  at  her  window  in  the 
moonlight,  changing  her  obedience  into  stub- 

Theseus.  Hippolyta,  I  wooed  thee  with  my  sword.       DOTO    narflneSS  . 

And,  my  gracious  Duke, 
Be  it  so  she  will  not  here,  before  your  grace, 
Consent  to  marry  with  Demetrius, 
I  beg  the  ancient  privilege  of  Athens, 
As  she  is  mine,  I  may  dispose  of  her  ; 
Which  shall  be  either  to  this  gentleman 
Or  to  her  death,  according  to  our  law «■ 
Immediately  provided  in  that  case. 

The  Duke  then  reasoned  with  Hermia  :  he  told  her  that  Demetrius  was  a  worthy 
gentleman  ;  that  she  ought  to  obey  her  father,  to  whom  she  owed  so  much ;  and 
explained  to  her  the  Athenian  law.  But  all  in  vain.  The  unhappy  Hermia  was 
quite  sure  that  she  would  rather  die,  or  live  in  a  convent,  than  marry  Demetrius. 

Then  Duke  Theseus  (perhaps  to  give  the  lovers  a  chance  to  escape)  told  the 
maiden  to  take  a  few  days  to  think  about  it :  by  the  next  new  moon,  which  was  to 


a  In  Solon's  time  there  was  a  law  in  Athens  giving  to  a  parent  power  of  life  and  death 
over  his  child.  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  taken  it  for  granted  that  the  law  existed  even 
before  that. 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


l9 


be  his  wedding-day,  she  must  decide  either  to  die  for  disobedience,  or  to  wed 
Demetrius,  or  to  vow  upon  Diana's  altar  to  live  a  lonely  single  life. 

Demetrius  called  upon  Lysander  to  "  yield  his  crazy  title  "  to  Hermia's  hand ; 
but  Lysander  appealed  to  the  Duke,  saying :  "I  am  in  rank  and  wealth  as  good  as 
Demetrius,  and,  what  is  more,  the  beauteous  Hermia  loves  me.  Demetrius  can- 
not deny  that  he  made  love  to  Helena,  old  Nedar's  daughter,  and  she,  sweet 
lady,  still  dotes  in  idolatry  on  this  wicked,  inconstant  man." 

Theseus  seems  to  have  heard  something  about  this  before  :  he  bade  Egeus  and 
Demetrius  follow  him,  upon  some  business  connected  with  his  coming  marriage, 
and,  with  a  last  kind  word  of  warning  to  Hermia,  went  out  with  Hippolyta,  leaving 
the  two  young  lovers  alone  together. 

Lysander  tried  to  comfort  the  weeping  Hermia,  but  said,  rather  sadly,  — 

Ah  me !  for  aught  that  I  could  ever  read, 

Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  history, 

The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth. 

At  last  Lysander  remembered  that  he  had  an  aunt,  living  about  twenty  miles 
away  from  Athens  ;  a  widow  lady,  of  great  wealth,  who  loved  him  as  a  son.  There 
they  could  be  married  without  fear  of  the  sharp  Athenian  law.  If  Hermia  would 
meet  him  the  next  night  in  the  wood,  a  league  outside  the  town,  where  once  they 
went  a-Maying,  he  would  wait  there  for  her.     Hermia  brightened  at  the  thought. 

My  good  Lysander  ! 
I  swear  to  thee,  by  Cupid's  strongest  bow, 
By  his  best  arrow  with  the  golden  head, 
In  that  same  place  thou  hast  appointed  me, 
To-morrow  truly  will  I  meet  with  thee  ! 

Hardly  had  these  two  lovers  decided  on  their  plan  of  escape,  when  Helena, 
the  lovely  and  unhappy  young  lady  of  whom  Lysander  had  spoken,  came  in. 

Helena  had  been  a  schoolmate  of  Hermia's.     The  two  girls  were  very  fond  of 


20  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

each  other.  They  used  to  sit  side  by  side,  embroidering  the  same  sampler,  sing- 
ing the  same  songs,  and  telling  each  other  all  their  joys  and  sorrows.  They 
grew  up  together  like  twin  cherries  on  a  single  stem.  Both  the  girls  were  thought 
fair  throughout  all  Athens,  but  they  were  quite  unlike.  Helena  was  tall  and 
dignified ;  mild  and  gentle  in  manner,  timid  and  affectionate  in  disposition. 
Hermia  was  short  and  dark ;  a  very  lively,  wide-awake  little  lady,  with  a  warm 
heart,  a  hasty  temper,  and  a  ready  tongue. 

The  treatment  that  Helena  had  received  from  Demetrius  had  made  her 
extremely  sad,  and  Hermia  and  Lysander  wished  so  much  to  comfort  her,  that  they 
were  glad  to  meet  her  just  then,  so  that  they  might  tell  her  of  their  new  plans. 

Hermia  was  afraid  she  might  pass  by  without  seeing  them,  because,  poor  soul, 
she  was  so  unhappy  that  her  eyes  were  always  full  of  tears  ■  so  Hermia  called  gayly 
to  her :  — 

God  speed,  fair  Helena  !     Whither  away  ? 

Helena.    Call  you  me  fair  ?  that  fair  again  unsay. 
Demetrius  loves  your  fair: 1  O  happy  fair  ! 
Your  eyes  are  lode-stars,2  and  your  tongue's  sweet  air 
More  tunable  than  lark  to  shepherd's  ear. 
When  wheat  is  green,  when  hawthorn  buds  appear. 
O  !  teach  me  how  you  look,  and  with  what  art 
You  sway  the  motion  of  Demetrius'  heart. 
Hermia.    I  frown  upon  him,  yet  he  loves  me  still. 
Helena.    O  that  your  frowns  would  teach  my  smiles  such  skill ! 
Her7nia.    The  more  I  hate  the  more  he  follows  me. 
Helena.    The  more  I  love  the  more  he  hateth  me. 
Hermia.    His  folly,  Helen,  is  no  fault  of  mine. 
Helena.    None  but  your  beauty's  :  would  that  fault  were  mine  ! 
Hermia.    Take  comfort :  he  no  more  shall  see  my  face  : 
Lysander  and  myself  will  fly  this  place  ; 
And  in  the  wood,  where  often  you  and  I 
Upon  faint  primrose-beds  were  wont  to  lie, 
Emptying  our  bosoms  of  their  counsel  sweet, 
There  my  Lysander  and  myself  shall  meet  ; 
And  thence  from  Athens  turn  away  our  eyes, 
To  seek  new  friends  and  stranger  companies. 
Farewell,  sweet  playfellow  ! 

Then  Hermia  and  Lysander  went  away  in  different  directions,  leaving  Helena 
alone.  Now  Helena  ought  to  have  been  very  glad  to  know  that  Hermia  and  Lysander 
were  going  to  be  so  happy,  and  that  Demetrius  would  soon  be  free,  and  so  per- 
haps come  back  some  day  to  his  old  love  for  her.  But,  instead  of  that,  she  only 
remembered  how  unhappy  she  was  herself,  and  how  much  she  wished  to  see 

1  Fairness.  2  Polar  stars. 


A    MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


21 


Demetrius,  and  so  she  formed  a  strange  plan,  —  a  plan  which  would  seem  quite 
unbecoming  a  maiden,  except  in  a  dream.     She  said  to  herself,  — 

I  will  go  tell  him  of  fair  Hermia's  flight ; 
Then  to  the  wood  will  he,  to-morrow  night, 
Pursue  her  ;  and  for  this  intelligence 
If  I  have  thanks,  it  is  dear  recompense  : 
But  herein  mean  I  to  enrich  my  pain, 
[With  him  to  go]  thither,  and  back  again. 

With  these  words  Helena  went  away  to  find  Demetrius. 


ROOM  IN  THE  COTTAGE  OF  QUINCE  THE  CARPENTER. 


II. 


Act  I.     Scene  2. 


'THENS  was  now  full  of  rejoicing  over  the  approaching  mar- 
riage of  Theseus  and  Queen  Hippolyta.  All  the  people 
wanted  to  do  something  in  honor  of  the  great  occasion  and 
to  show  their  love.  Among  the  rest,  a  number  of  rough 
workingmen  —  "  rude  mechanicals,  hard-handed  men,  that 
worked  for  bread  upon  Athenian  stalls  "  —  met  in  a  cottage 
to  talk  over  their  plan,  which  was  to  act  a  play  before  the 
Duke  and  his  bride  "  on  his  wedding-day  at  night,"  as  they  said. 

They  were  a  queer  company  for  such  a  purpose,  and  comical  work  they  made  of 
it,  as  you  will  see.  First,  there  was  Quince,  the  carpenter,  who  seems  to  have 
planned  and  managed  the  whole  affair,  perhaps  because  he  was  a  carpenter  and 
did  everything  by  rule.  Next  in  importance  came  Bottom,  the  weaver,  who  was 
a  general  favorite,  and  was  thought  by  his  friends,  as  well  as  by  himself,  to  be  very 
bright  and  witty.  He  was  certainly  conceited  enough ;  for  he  was  quite  sure  no 
one  could  do  anything  so  well  as  he  :  and  he  actually  wanted  to  take  all  the  principal 
parts  in  the  play  himself !  Francis  Flute,  the  bellows-mender,  was  a  little  fellow, 
with  a  small,  squeaky  voice  ;  which  was  the  reason  that  he  was  chosen  for  the 
woman's  part.     Snug,  the  joiner,  was  a  quiet,  peaceable  man,  slow  of  speech,  and 


A   MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM.  23 

"  slower  yet  of  study."  Starveling,  the  tailor,  was  a  snip  of  a  chap,  who  stuttered 
and  stammered  whenever  he  attempted  to  speak.  And  at  the  end  of  the  list  stood 
Snout,  the  tinker,  who  was  timorous  and  doubtful.  He  saw  the  dark  side  of  every- 
thing, and  when  anybody  spoke  of  a  difficulty,  it  seemed  to  him  that  there  was 
no  possible  way  of  overcoming  it. 

These  poor  fellows  really  wished  to  do  something  that  would  be  a  credit  to 
themselves  and  a  high  compliment  to  the  Duke  ;  but  they  were  so  ignorant  that, 
without  knowing  or  meaning  it  in  the  least,  they  only  made  themselves  ridiculous. 
The  tragedy  which  they  meant  should  be  pathetic  and  heart-breaking  was  funny 
instead ;  and  the  only  tears  it  caused  were  those  that  came  from  laughing. 

Having  met  in  the  carpenter's  cottage  as  agreed,  they  looked  to  Quince  as  their 
leader,  who  thus  began  :  — 

Is  all  our  company  here  ?' 

Bottom.  You  were  best  to  call  them  generally,  man  by  man,  according  to  the 
[writing]. 

Quince.  Here  is  the  scroll  of  every  man's  name,  which  is  thought  fit,  through  all 
Athens,  to  play  in  our  interlude  before  the  Duke  and  Duchess  on  his  wedding-day  at 
night. 

Bottom.  First,  good  Peter  Quince,  say  what  the  play  treats  on  ;  then  read  the 
names  of  the  actors,  and  so  go  on  to  appoint. 

Quince.  Marry,  our  play  is  —  The  most  lamentable  comedy,  and  most  cruel  death 
of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe. 

Bottom.  A  very  good  piece  of  work,  I  assure  you,  and  a  merry.  —  Now,  good 
Peter  Quince,  call  forth  your  actors  by  the  scroll.     Masters,  spread  yourselves. 

Quince.    Answer,  as  I  call  you.  —  Nick  Bottom,  the  weaver. 

Bottom.    Ready.     Name  what  part  I  am  for,  and  proceed. 

Quince.    You.  Nick  Bottom,  are  set  down  for  Pyramus. 

Bottom.    What  is  Pyramus  ?  a  lover,  or  a  tyrant  ? 

Quince.    A  lover,  that  kills  himself  most  gallant  for  love. 

Bottom.  That  will  ask  some  tears  in  the  true  performing  of  it :  if  I  do  it,  let  the 
audience  look  to  their  eyes  ;  I  will  move  stones  ;  I  will  condole  in  some  measure.  To 
the  rest :  — yet  my  chief  humor  is  for  a  tyrant :  I  could  play  Ercles  x  rarely,  or  a  part 
to  tear  a  cat  in,  to  make  all  split. 

"  The  raging  rocks, 
And  shivering  shocks, 
Shall  break  the  locks 

Of  prison-gates  : 
And  Phibbus'  2  car 
Shall  shine  from  far 
And  make  and  mar 

The  foolish  fates." 

This  was  lofty  !  —  Now  name  the  rest  of  the  players.  —  This  is  Ercles'  vein,3  a  tyrant's 
vein;  a  lover  is  more  condoling. 


1  Hercules.  2  Phcebus's  car,  —  the  sun.  3  Style. 


24 


SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 


Bottom.    A  part  to  tear  a  cat  in,  to  make  all  split. 

Quince.    Francis  Flute,  the  bellows-mender. 

Flute.    Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quince.    You  must  take  Thisbe  on  you. 

Flute.    What  is  Thisbe  ?  a  wandering  knight  ? 

Quince.    It  is  the  lady  that  Pyramus  must  love. 

Flute.    Nay,  faith,  let  me  not  play  a  woman :   I  have  a  beard  coming. 

Quince.  That 's  all  one.  You  shall  play  it  in  a  mask,  and  you  may  speak  as 
small  as  you  will.a 

Bottom.  If  I  may  hide  my  face,  let  me  play  Thisbe  too.  I  '11  speak  in  a  monstrous 
little  voice,  thus,  thus  :  "  Ah,  Pyramus,  my  lover  dear  !  thy  Thisbe  dear,  and  lady  dear  !  " 

Quince.    No,  no  ;  you  must  play  Pyramus,  and,  Flute,  you  Thisbe. 


"  In  Shakespeare's  time,  the  female  parts  were  acted  by  boys  or  young  men,  and  if  the 
actor's  face  was  not  sufficiently  smooth,  he  was  permitted  to  wear  a  mask.  The  poet  assumes 
the  same  customs  to  have  existed  in  the  more  ancient  times. 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


25 


-Tom  Snout,  the  tinker. 
-  Snug,  the  joiner,  you, 


Bottom.    Well,  proceed. 

Quitice.    Robin  Starveling,  the  tailor. 

Starveling.    Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quince.    Robin  Starveling,  you  must  play  Thisbe's  mother. 

Snout.    Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quince.    You,  Pyramus's  father  ;  myself,  Thisbe's  father, 
the  lion's  part ;  —  and,  I  hope,  here  is  a  play  fitted. 

Snug.  Have  you  the  lion's  part  written  ?  pray  you,  if  it  be,  give  it  me,  for  I  am 
slow  of  study. 

Quince.    You  may  do  it  extempore,  for  it  is  nothing  but  roaring. 

Bottom.  Let  me  play  the  lion  too.  I  will  roar,  that  it  will  do  any  man's  heart 
good  to  hear  me  :  I  will  roar,  that  I  will  make  the  Duke  say,  "  Let  him  roar  again  : 
let  him  roar  again." 

Quince.  If  you  should  do  it  too  terribly,  you  would  fright  the  Duchess  and  the 
ladies,  that  they  would  shriek  ;  and  that  were  enough  to  hang  us  all. 

All.  That  would  hang  us,  every 
mother's  son. 

Bottom.  But  I  will  aggravate 
my  voice  so,  that  I  will  roar  you  as 
gently  as  any  sucking  dove:  I  will 
roar  you  as  if  't  were  any  nightingale. 

Quince.  You  can  play  no  part 
but  Pyramus ;  for  Pyramus  is  a 
sweet-faced  man  ;  a  [handsome]  man, 
as  one  shall  see  in  a  summer's  day  ; 
a  most  lovely,  gentlemanlike  man ; 
therefore,  you  must  needs  play  Pyra- 
mus. 

Bottom.   Well,  I  will  undertake  it. 

Quince.  Then,  masters,  here  are 
your  parts  ;  and  I  am  to  entreat 
you,  request  you,  and  desire  you,  to 
[learn]  them  by  to-morrow  night,  and 
meet  me  in  the  palace  wood,  a  mile  without  the  town,  by  moonlight :  there  will  we  re- 
hearse. In  the  meantime  I  will  draw  a  bill  of  properties,11  such  as  our  play  wants. 
I  pray  you,  fail  me  not.     Take  pains  ;  be  perfect;  adieu.    At  the  duke's  oak  we  meet. 

And  so  the  cornpany  separated. 


All.    That  would  hang  us,  every  mother's  son. 


a  Properties —  Articles  wanted  on  the  stage  for  the  proper  performance  of  a  play, 
man  who  has  charge  of  such  things  in  a  theatre  is  still  called  the  property-man. 


The 


A   WOOD    NEAR   ATHENS. 


III. 


Act  II.    Scene  i. 


HE  dream  now  changes,  as  dreams  will,  and  the  new  scene 
is  a  fairy-haunted  wood  near  Athens.  Oberon,  the  king, 
and  Titania,  the  queen  of  the  fairies,  had  always  lived  hap- 
pily together,  dancing  in  the  moonlight,  hunting  the  but- 
terflies, sporting  amid  the  flowers,  and  singing  with  the 
nightingales.  But  a  change  had  come  upon  them.  Titania 
had  stolen  from  an  Indian  king  a  lovely  little  child,  whose 
mother  had  been  her  dear  friend,  and  Oberon  had  begged  for  the  pretty  boy  as 
his  page  ;  but  Titania  had  refused  to  give  him  up.     This  made  a  mighty  quarrel. 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


27 


Titania  and  her  fairies  kept  as  far  away  as  possible  from  Oberon  and  his  elves ;  for 
whenever  they  did  meet,  the  royal  couple  looked  so  angrily  at  each  other  that 
all  the  little  people  were  glad  to  hide  in  the  acorn  cups  for  fear. 

Puck  (or  Robin  Goodfellow,  as  he  was  sometimes  called)  was  a  mischievous 
little  sprite,  always  in  close  attendance  on  King  Oberon,  and  ready  to  do  his  bid- 
ding, if  need  be,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Puck  was  full  of  fun  and  mis- 
chief, and  never  quite  happy  unless  he  was  plaguing  or  misleading  somebody. 
But  he  seemed  to  do  it  more  for  the  sport  of  the  thing  than  because  he  had  any 
wicked  intention. 

Fairies  are  always  most  at  home  in  the  lovely,  shadowy  woods,  where  the  grass 
is  the  greenest  and  the  flowers  are  the  fairest ;  and  Titania  loved  to  sport  there  with 

her  train  of  little  followers. 
One  of  these  came  by  chance 
to  a  mossy  dell,  seeking  dew- 
drops  (which  are  the  fairies' 
pearls),  just  as  Puck  entered 
the  wood  from  the  other 
side.  Now  Puck  was  on  the 
lookout  for  a  good  place 
for  King  Oberon's  midnight 
revels,  and,  spying  Titania's 
elf,  he  greeted  him  in  fairy 
fashion,  thus  :  — 

Puck.    How  now,  spirit !  whither  wander  you  ? 
Fairy.    Over  hill,  over  dale. 

Thorough  bush,  thorough  brier, 
Over  park,  over  pale., 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 
I  do  wander  every  where, 
Swifter  than  the  moony  sphere  ; 
And  I  serve  the  fairy  queen, 
To  dew  her  [circles  on]  the  green  : 
The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  "  be  : 
In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see. 
Those  be  rubies,  fairy  favors, 
In  those  freckles  live  their  savors: 
I  must  go  seek  some  dew-drops  here, 
And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 


a  The  allusion  is  to  Queen  Elizabeth's  band  of  Gentlemen  Pensioners,  who  were  chosen 
from  among  the  handsomest  and  tallest  young  men  of  family  and  fortune.  They  were  dressed 
in  habits  richly  garnished  with  gold  lace. 


28  SHAKESPEARE    FOR    THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 

Farewell,  thou  lob  l  of  spirits  : a  I  '11  be  gone. 
Our  queen  and  all  her  elves  come  here  anon. 

Puck.    The  king  doth  keep  his  revels  here  to-night. 
Take  heed  the  queen  come  not  within  his  sight ; 
For  Oberon  is  passing  fell  and  wrath.8 
Because  that  she,  as  her  attendant,  hath 
A  lovely  boy,  stolen  from  an  Indian  king : 
She  never  had  so  sweet  a  changeling  ; b 
And  jealous  Oberon  would  have  the  child 
Knight  of  his  train,  to  trace  the  forests  wild  ; 
But  she,  perforce,  withholds  the  loved  boy, 
Crowns  him  with  flowers,  and  makes  him  all  her  joy: 
And  now  they  never  meet  in  grove,  or  green, 
By  fountain  clear,  or  spangled  starlight  sheen.3 
But  they  do  square,4  that  all  their  elves,  for  fear, 
Creep  into  acorn  cups,  and  hide  them  there. 

Fairy.    Either  I  mistake  your  shape  and  making  quite, 
Or  else  you  are  that  shrewd  and  knavish  sprite, 
Called  Robin  Goodfellow.0     Are  you  not  he. 
That  frights  the  maidens  of  the  villagery  ; 
Skims  milk,  and  sometimes  labors  in  the  quern,5 
And  bootless  makes  the  breathless  housewife  churn  ; 
And  sometimes  makes  the  drink  to  bear  no  barm  ; 6 

1   Lubber.  "2  Savage  and  angry-  3  Bright. 

4  Quarrel.  5  Hand-mill.  6  Froth  ;  yeast. 

a  Lob  of  spirits  —  Puck  was  a  clumsy  fellow  in  shape,  though  quick  enough  in  motion. 
He  was  so  different  in  appearance  from  the  other  fairies,  that  this  spirit  recognized  him  at 
first  sight.     Milton,  describing  Robin  Goodfellow  in  L'  Allegro,  says,  — 

"Then  lies  him  down  the  lubber  fiend." 

b  Changeling —  It  was  a  common  superstition  that  fairies  stole  beautiful  children,  leaving 
elves  in  their  places.     In   the   "  Pranks  of  Puck,"  ascribed  to  Ben  Jonson,  we  have  these 

lines  :  — 

"  When  larks  'gin  sing, 
Away  we  fling, 
And  babes  new-born  steal  as  we  go  ; 
An  elf  instead 
Leave  we  in  bed, 
And  wind  out  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho  !  " 

(See  the  piece,  given  entire  at  the  end  of  this  play.) 

c  Robin  Goodfellow  —  This  account  of  Puck  was  gathered  from  the  popular  notions  of  the 
time.  Burton,  in  his  A)tatomy  of  Melancholy,  savs  :  "  A  bigger  kind  there  is  of  them  [fairies], 
called  with  us  Hobgoblins  and  Robin  Goodfellows,  that  would  in  those  superstitious  times 
grind  corn  for  a  mess  of  milk,"  etc.  Harsenet,  in  his  Declaration  of  Popish  Impostures,  says  : 
"  And  if  that  the  bowle  of  curds  and  creame  were  not  duly  set  out  for  Robin  Goodfellow,  the 
friar,  and  Sisse  the  dairy-maid,  why  then  either  the  pottage  was  burnt  next  day  in  the  pot,  or 
the  cheeses  would  not  curdle,  or  the  butter  would  not  come,  or  the  ale  in  the  fat  [vat]  never 
would  have  good  head." 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


29 


Misleads  night-wanderers,  laughing  at  their  harm  ? 
Those  that  Hobgoblin  call  you,  and  sweet  buck, 
You  do  their  work,  and  they  shall  have  good  luck. 
Are  not  you  he  ? 

Puck.  Fairy,  thou  speak'st  aright ; 

I  am  that  merry  wanderer  of  the  night. 
I  jest  to  Oberon,  and  make  him  smile, 
When  I  a  fat  and  bean-fed  horse  beguile, 
Neighing  in  likeness  of  a  filly  foal  : 
And  sometimes  lurk  I  in  a  gossip's  '  bowl, 
In  very  likeness  of  a  roasted  crab  ;  2 
And,  when  she  drinks,  against  her  lips  I  bob, 
And  on  her  withered  dew-lapa  pour  the  ale. 
The  wisest  aunt11  telling  the  saddest  tale, 
Sometime  for  three-foot  stool  mistaketh  me  ; 
Then  slip  I  from  [behind],  down  topples  she, 


And  [rails  or]  cries,  and  falls  into  a  cough  ; 

And  then  the  whole  quire4  hold  their  hips,  and  laugh. 

And  waxen  in  their  mirth,  and  neeze,5  and  swear 

A  merrier  hour  was  never  wasted  there.  — 

But  room,  Fairy:  here  comes  Oberon. 

Fairy.    And  here  my  mistress.  —  Would  that  he  were  gone  ! 


1  Chatting  woman.  -'  Crab-apple.  3  Neck.  4  Company. 

*    The  wisest  aunt  — The  most  serious  old  woman. 


5  Sneeze. 


30  SHAKESPEARE   FOR    THE    YOUNG    FOLK. 

Enter Oberon,  from  one  side,  with  his  train,  and  Tit ania,  from  the  other,  with  hers. 

Oberon.    Ill  met  by  moonlight,  proud  Titania. 
Titania.    What,  jealous  Oberon  !     Fairies,  skip  hence. 
I  have  forsworn  his  bed  and  company. 

Then,  turning  to  Obe*ron,  Titania  chides  him  for  intruding  upon  her  and  her 
fairies,  and  interrupting  their  sports.     "  You  well  know,"  she  says,  — 

[That]  never,  since  the  middle  summer's  spring,1 

Met  we  on  hill,  in  dale,  forest,  or  mead, 

By  paved  fountain,  or  by  rushy  brook, 

Or  on  the  beached  margin  of  the  sea, 

To  dance  our  ringlets  to  the  whistling  wind, 

But  with  thy  brawls  thou  hast  disturbed  our  sport.  . 

Therefore  the  winds,  piping  to  us  in  vain, 

As  in  revenge,  have  sucked  up  from  the  sea 

Contagious  fogs  ;  which  falling  in  the  land, 

Have  every  [petty]  river  made  so  proud, 

That  they  have  overborne  their  continents  :  : 

The  seasons  alter  :   hoary-headed  frosts 

Fall  in  the  fresh  lap  of  the  crimson  rose  ; 

And  on  old  Hyems'  2  thin  and  icy  crown, 

An  odorous  chaplet  of  sweet  summer  buds 

Is,  as  in  mockery,  set.     The  spring,  the  summer, 

The  [fruitful]  autumn,  angry  winter,  change 

Their  wonted  liveries  ;  and  the  [puzzled]  world, 

By  their  increase,  now  knows  not  which  is  which. 

And  this  same  progeny  of  evils  comes 

From  our  debate,  from  our  dissension  : 

We  are  their  parents  and  original. 

Oberon.    Do  you  amend  it  then;  it  lies  in  you. 
Why  should  Titania  cross  her  Oberon  ? 
I  do  but  beg  a  little  changeling  boy, 
To  be  my  henchman.3 

Titania.  Set  your  heart  at  rest  : 

The  fairy  land  buys  not  the  child  of  me. 
His  mother  was  a  votaress  of  my  order,b 
And  for  her  sake  I  do  rear  up  her  boy, 
And  for  her  sake  I  will  not  part  with  him. 

Oberon.    How  long  within  this  wood  intend  you  stay  ? 

Titania.    Perchance,  till  after  Theseus'  wedding-day. 
If  you  will  patiently  dance  in  our  round, 


1  Banks.  2  Winter.  »  Page. 

a  That   is,    the  beginning  of   midsummer.     The   word  spring  was   often   thus  used   in 
Shakespeare's  time.     See  Introduction,  p.  xiv. 
b  One  who  loved  and  respected  fairies. 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


31 


And  see  our  moonlight  revels,  go  with  us  ; 
If  not,  shun  me,  and  I  will  spare  your  haunts. 

Oberon.    Give  me  that  boy,  and  I  will  go  with  thee. 

Titania.    Not  for  thy  fairy  kingdom.  —  Fairies,  away  ! 
We  shall  chide  downright,  if  I  longer  stay. 

[Titania,  with  her  train,  goes  out. 

Oberon.    Well,  go  thy  way :  thou  shalt  not  from  this  grove, 
Till  I  torment  thee  for  this  injury.  — 
My  gentle  Puck,  come  hither. 

Then  Oberon  reminds  Puck  how  once,  when  they  were  on  a  high  mountain 
by  the  sea,  they  heard  the  mermaids  sing ;  and  says  that  at  that  very  time  he  saw 
(though  Puck  could  not  see)  flying  between  the  cold  moon  and  the  earth,  Cupid, 
all  armed ;  he  saw  the  little  love-god  shoot  an  arrow 
smartly  from  his  bow,  aimed  at  a  fair  virgin  queen,a 
and  though  the  arrow  was  swift  enough  to  pierce  a 
hundred  thousand  hearts,  it  missed  the  queen,  who 
quietly  passed  on, 

"  In  maiden  meditation,  fancy-free.' 

But  the    mischief-loving   little   god  did  something   with  his  shot   after   all,    for 

Oberon  says,  — 

Yet  marked  I  where  the  bolt  of  Cupid  fell : 

It  fell  upon  a  little  western  flower,  — 

Before  milk-white,  now  purple  with  love's  wound,  — 

And  maidens  call  it  love-in-idleness. b 

Fetch  me  that  flower  ;  the  herb  I  showed  thee  once  : 

The  juice  of  it  on  sleeping  eyelids  laid, 

Will  make  or  man  or  woman  madly  dote 

Upon  the  next  live  creature  that  it  sees. 

Fetch  me  this  herb  ;  and  be  thou  here  again, 

Ere  the  leviathan  x  can  swim  a  league. 

Puck.    I  'd  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 
In  forty  minutes.  [Puck  flies  away. 

Oberon.  Having  once  this  juice, 

I  '11  watch  Titania  when  she  is  asleep, 
And  drop  the  liquor  of  it  in  her  eyes  : 
The  next  thing  then  she  waking  looks  upon, 
(Be  it  on  lion,  bear,  or  wolf,  or  bull, 
On  meddling  monkey,  or  on  busy  ape,) 
She  shall  pursue  it  with  the  soul  of  love  ; 

1  Whale. 
a  This  is  supposed  to  have  been  intended  by  Shakespeare  as  a  compliment  to  Queen 
Elizabeth,  who  was  never  married. 

b  The  flower  which  we  call  the  pansy. 


32  SHAKESPEARE    FOR    THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 

And  ere  I  take  this  charm  off  from  her  sight, 

(As  I  can  take  it  with  another  herb,) 

I  'II  make  her  render  up  her  page  to  me. 

But  who  comes  here  ?     I  am  invisible, 

And  I  will  overhear  their  conference.  [Oberon  retires. 

In  the  meantime  Helena  has  told  Demetrius  of  the  plans  of  Lysander  and 
Hermia,  and  now  Demetrius  has  come  to  the  wood  to  find  them.  Helena  pursues 
him ;  and  at  last  they  reach  the  very  dell  where  Oberon  still  remains,  invisible. 
Demetrius  here  spoke  rudely  and  unkindly  to  poor  Helena,  reproaching  her  for 
running  after  him ;  but  she  took  it  all  patiently  because  she  loved  him  so  much ; 
and  when  Demetrius  ran  away  again  she  continued  to  follow  him,  little  dreaming 
that  Oberon,  the  fairy  king,  had  seen  and  heard  all  that  had  passed  between  them. 
Oberon  was  sorry  for  Helena,  and  as  she  disappeared,  he  said  very  softly,  — 

Fare  thee  well,  nymph  :  ere  he  do  leave  this  grove, 
Thou  shalt  fly  him,  and  he  shall  seek  thy  love.  — 

Re-enter  Puck. 

Hast  thou  the  flower  there  ?     Welcome,  wanderer. 

Puck.    Ay,  there  it  is. 

Oberon.  I  pray  thee,  give  it  me. 

I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  ox-lips,  and  the  nodding  violet  grows  ; 
Quite  over-canopied  with  lush  x  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk-roses,  and  with  eglantine  : 
And  where  the  snake  throws  her  enamelled  skin, 
Weed  2  wide  enough  to  wrap  a  fairy  in  : 
There  sleeps  Titania,  some  time  of  the  night, 
Lulled  in  this  bower  with  dances  and  delight; 
And  with  the  juice  of  this  I  '11  streak  her  eyes, 
And  make  her  full  of  hateful  fantasies. 
Take  thou  some  of  it,  and  seek  through  this  grove : 
A  sweet  Athenian  lady  is  in  love 
With  a  disdainful  youth  :  anoint  his  eyes  ; 
But  do  it,  when  the  next  thing  he  espies 
May  be  the  lady.     Thou  shalt  know  the  man 
By  the  Athenian  garments  he  hath  on. 
Effect  it  with  some  care,  that  he  may  prove 
More  fond  on  her,  than  she  upon  her  love. 
And  look  thou  meet  me  ere  the  first  cock  crow. 

Puck.    Fear  not,  my  lord:  your  servant  shall  do  so. 


Luscious.  2  Clothing. 


Titania.   Come,  now  a  roundel,  and  a  fairy  song. 


1» 

» |§§ 

V   ',  I     V.    :,  i  ■■ 

.  •..-■■■- 

,■■•■ 

:  ■-    ' 

M9JA4IX\!lrh/. 


Act  II.     Scene  2. 

i^^^jFM  HE  scene  now  changes,  and 
Titania  enters  another  part 
of  the  wood  with  her  fairy 
train.   She  calls  for  a  dance 

around  and  a  fairy  song ;  then  sends  some  of  the 
away  on  different  errands,  while  she  bids  others  sing 
sleep  :  — 


fairies 
her  to 


A   MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM.  35 

Come,  now  a  roundel,  and  a  fairy  song; 
Then,  ere  the  third  part  of  a  minute,  hence : 
Some,  to  kill  cankers  in  the  musk-rose  buds  : 
Some  war  with  rear-mice  *  for  their  leathern  wings, 
To  make  my  small  elves  coats  ;  and  some  keep  back 
The  clamorous  owl,  that  nightly  hoots,  and  wonders 
At  our  quaint  -  spirits.     Sing  me  now  asleep  ; 
Then  to  your  offices,  and  let  me  rest. 

fairies'  song. 

1st  Fairy.    You  spotted  snakes,  with  double  tongue, 
Thorny  hedge-hogs,  be  not  seen  ; 
Newts,  and  blind-worms,  do  tw  wrong, 
Come  ?iot  near  our  fairy  qiceen : 

CHORUS. 

Philomel?  with  melody, 
Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby  ; 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby  ;  lulla,  lulla,  lullaby  : 

Never  harm, 

Nor  spell  nor  charm, 

Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ; 

So,  good  night,  with  lullaby. 

II. 
2d  Fairy.    Weaving  spiders,  come  not  here  ; 

Hence,  you  long-legged  spinners,  hence  ! 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near ; 
Worm,  nor  snail,  do  no  offence. 

CHORUS. 

Philo?nel,  with  melody,  etc. 

i st  Fairy.    Hence  away  !  now  all  is  well. 
One,  aloof,  stand  sentinel. 

Titania  sleeps,  and  the  fairies  fly  softly  away.  Then,  seeing  his  queen  asleep, 
King  Oberon  entered  softly,  and  touched  Titania's  eyelids  with  the  magic  flower, 
saying,  as  he  did  so,  — 

What  thou  seest,  when  thou  dost  wake, 

Do  it  for  thy  true  love  take  ; 

Love,  and  languish  for  his  sake  : 

Be  it  ounce,  or  cat,  or  bear, 

Pard,4  or  boar  with  bristled  hair, 

In  thy  eye  that  shall  appear 

When  thou  wak'st,  it  is  thy  dear. 

Wake  when  some  vile  thing-  is  near. 


Bats.  2  Pretty,  curious.  '    3  Nightingale.  4  Leopard. 


36 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 


Oberon.    What  thou  seest,  when  thou  dost  wake, 
Do  it  for  thy  true  love  take. 

Then  out  he  crept,  leaving  the  sweet  little  fairy  queen  in  an  enchanted  sleep. 
At  this  moment  Lysander  and  Hermia,  who  had  met  in  the  forest  according  to 
agreement,  came  into  the  same  place  hand-in-hand.  They  had  been  walking  a 
long  way  on  their  tiresome  night- journey,  and  were  quite  weary.  Of  course  they 
could  not  see  Titania,  for  though  the  fairies  can  see  mortals,  mortals  cannot  pos- 
sibly see  fairies.  Lysander  was  sorry  that  his  dear  Hermia  should  be  so  tired,  and 
he  said,  — 


A   MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


37 


Fair  love,  you  faint  with  wandering  in  the  wood, 
And,  to  speak  truth,  I  have  forgot  our  way ; 
We  '11  rest  us,  Hermia,  if  you  think  it  good, 
And  tarry  for  the  comfort  of  the  day. 

Hermia.    Be  it  so,  Lysander,  find  you  out  a  bed  ; 
For  I  upon  this  bank  will  rest  my  head. 

Good  night,  sweet  friend  : 
Thy  love  ne'er  alter  till  thy  sweet  life  end  ! 

Lysander.    Amen,  amen;  Sleep  give  thee  all  his  rest! 

Her7iiia.    With  half  that  wish  the  wisher's  eyes  be  pressed  ! 

They  both  fall  asleep  on  the  green  turf,  a  little  distance  apart. 

Now  who  should  come  along  but  Master  Puck,  looking  for  Demetrius,  whom 
King  Oberon  had  commanded  him  to  find  ?•  His  only  way  of  knowing  this  per- 
son was  to  be  by  his  Athenian  dress.  But  Lysander,  being  also  an  Athenian, 
was  dressed  of  course  in  the  same  fashion,  and  Puck,  not  having  been  told  that 
any  other  Athenian  was  in  the  wood,  made  a  great  mistake,  and  took  Lysander  for 
Demetrius.  So  he  hastened  to  touch  the  eyes  of  the  sleeping  Lysander  with 
the  flower  which  was  to  make  him  madly  love  the  first  live  thing  he  should  see 
when  he  awoke.  Puck  had  been  scolding,  as  he  went,  because  of  his  failure  to 
find  Demetrius,  when  suddenly  his  eye  fell  on  the  sleepers,  —  Lysander  on  one 
bank,  and  Hermia  at  some  distance  away.     Then  he  exclaimed,  — 

Night  and  silence  !  who  is  here  ? 

Weeds  of  Athens  he  doth  wear  : 

This  is  he  my  master  said 

Despised  the  Athenian  maid  ; 

And  here  the  maiden,  sleeping  sound 

On  the  dank  and  dirty  ground. 

Pretty  soul !  she  durst  not  lie 

Nearer  this  lack-love,  this  kill-courtesy. 

Churl,  upon  thy  eyes  I  throw 

All  the  power  this  charm  doth  owe.1 

\  Touching  his  eyes  with  the  flower. 
When  thou  wak'st,  let  love  forbid 
Sleep  his  seat  on  thy  eyelid. 
So  awake  when  I  am  gone, 
For  I  must  now  to  Oberon. 

Then,  quite  content,  and  pleased  with  his  success,  Puck  hastened  back  to  his  royal 
master. 

At  this  time  Demetrius,  running  through  the  wood  to  get  away  from  Helena, 
came  upon  this   very  spot.     Helena  still  followed   him,  —  a  queer   thing  for  a 


1  Own. 


38  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

nice  and  well-behaved  young  lady  to  do  !  But  you  are  not  to  forget  that  all  this  took 
place  in  a  dream,  and  in  dreams  people  never  act  as  they  do  in  the  wide-awake 
world.  Demetrius  ran  faster  than  Helena,  who,  out  of  breath  with  her  fond  chase, 
stopped  for  a  moment,  and  perceived  Lysander  on  the  ground,  either  dead  or 
asleep.  She  called  him  by  name,  —  "Lysander,  wake!"  Lysander  suddenly 
opened  his  eyes,  and,  under  the  influence  of  the  magic  flower,  forgot  all  about 
Hermia,  fell  instantly  in  love  with  Helena,  and  began  telling  her  how  fair  she 
seemed  to  him,  and  how  fond  he  was  of  her.  Helena  was  much  grieved  by  his 
words,  which  she  thought  were  meant  in  scorn  and  mockery,  because  she  knew 
how  truly  he  had  loved  Hermia ;  and  she  ran  away  as  fast  as  she  could,  Lysander 
pursuing  her. 

After  they  were  quite  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  Hermia  awoke,  frightened  by 
a  bad  dream,  and  called  to  Lysander  to  come  and  help  her.  Then,  terrified  at 
finding  herself  alone,  she  too  ran  swiftly  away  into  the  wood  to  find  her  lost 
lover.  Thus  had  Puck's  blunder  set  everything  in  confusion,  and,  one  would 
think,  started  mischief  enough  for  one  night. 

But  more  was  to  come. 


V. 


Act  III.     Scene  i. 


IT  the  very  place  where  we  left  the  Queen  of  the  Fairies 
lying  asleep,  the  company  of  clownish  actors  — Quince,  Snug, 
Bottom,  Flute,  and  Starveling  —  met  to  rehearse  their  play. 
They  thought  the  quiet  greensward  in  the  midst  of  the  forest 
would  be  a  marvellous  convenient  place  for  this  purpose  : 
the  grass-plot  could  be  their  stage,  and  the  hawthorn  bushes 
their  dressing-room  and  place  of  retreat  when  they  wished 
to  retire  from  the  stage.  Of  course  they  did  not  see  Titania,  who  was  sleeping 
quietly  on  a  bank  of  flowers. 

Since  their  last  meeting,  Bottom  had  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  the  play 
and  the  difficult  things  that  must  be  done  to  make  it  go  off  well.  As  he  was  to  be 
the  chief  actor,  he  felt  very  important,  and  wished  his  companions  to  understand 
that  he  saw  all  the  hard  places,  and  was  wise  enough  to  tell  them  what  to  do. 
So  he  began  at  once  :  — 

Peter  Quince,  — 

Quince.    What  say'st  thou,  bully  Bottom  ? 

Bottom.  There  are  things  in  this  comedy  of  "  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,"  that  will 
never  please.  First,  Pyramus  must  draw  a  sword  to  kill  himself,  which  the  ladies  can- 
not abide.     How  answer  you  that  ? 

Snout.    By'rlakin,a  a  parlous  J  fear. 

Starveling.    I  believe  we  must  leave  the  killing  out,  when  all  is  done. 

Botto7ii.  Not  a  whit :  I  have  a  device  to  make  all  well.  Write  me  a  prologue,b 
and  let  the  prologue  seem  to  say,  we  will  do  no  harm  with  our  swords,  and  that 
Pyramus  is  not  killed  indeed  ;  and,  for  the  more  better  assurance,  tell  them  that  I, 
Pyramus,  am  not  Pyramus,  but  Bottom  the  weaver.     This  will  put  them  out  of  fear. 


1  Perilous. 
a  By  our  ladykin  (or  little  lady),  meaning  the  Virgin  Mary. 

b  Bottom  has  a  very  confused  idea  of  the  nature  of  a  prologue,  which  is  the  poetical  intro- 
duction to  a  play. 


aq  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Quince.    Well,  we  will  have  such  a  prologue. 

Snout.    Will  not  the  ladies  be  afeard  of  the  lion  ? 

Starveling.    I  fear  it,  I  promise  you. 

Bottom.  Masters,  you  ought  to  consider  with  yourselves  :  to  bring  in,  God  shield 
us  !  a  lion  among  ladies,  is  a  most  dreadful  thing ;  for  there  is  not  a  more  fearful  wild- 
fowl than  your  lion  living,  and  we  ought  to  look  to  it. 

Snout.   Therefore,  another  prologue  must  tell  he  is  not  a  lion. 

Bottom.  Nay,  you  must  name  his  name,  and  half  his  face  must  be  seen  through 
the  lion's  neck  ;  and  he  himself  must  speak  through,  saying  thus,  or  to  the  same 
defect :  —  "  Ladies,"  or,  "  Fair  ladies,  I  would  wish  you,"  or,  "  I  would  request  you,"  or, 
"  I  would  entreat  you,  not  to  fear,  not  to  tremble  :  my  life  for  yours.  If  you  think  I  come 
hither  as  a  lion,  it  were  pity  of  my  life  :  no,  I  am  no  such  thing :  I  am  a  man  as  other 
men  are  :  "  and  there,  indeed,  let  him  name  his  name,  and  tell  them  plainly  he  is  Snug, 
the  joiner. 

Quince.  Well,  it  shall  be  so.  But  there  is  two  hard  things  :  that  is,  to  bring  the 
moonlight  into  a  chamber  ;  for  you  know,  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  meet  by  moonlight. 

Snug.    Doth  the  moon  shine  that  night  we  play  our  play  ? 

Bottom.  A  calendar,  a  calendar !  look  in  the  almanac  ;  find  out  moonshine,  find 
out  moonshine. 

Quince.   Yes,  it  doth  shine  that  night. 

Bottojn.  Why,  then  you  may  leave  a  casement  of  the  great  chamber  window, 
where  we  play,  open  ;  and  the  moon  may  shine  in  at  the  casement. 

Quince.  Ay  ;  or  else  one  must  come  in  with  a  bush  of  thorns  and  a  lanthorn,  and 
say,  he  comes  to  disfigure,  or  to  present,  the  person  of  moonshine.  Then,  there  is 
another  thing  :  we  must  have  a  wall  in  the  great  chamber  ;  for  Pyramus  and  Thisbe 
(says  the  story)  did  talk  through  the  chink  of  a  wall. 

Snug.    You  can  never  bring  in  a  wall.  —  What  say  you,  Bottom  ? 

Bottom.  Some  man  or  other  must  present  wall :  and  let  him  have  some  plaster,  or 
some  loam,  or  some  rough-cast  about  him,  to  signify  wall ;  and  let  him  hold  his 
fingers  thus  {holding  up  the  first  and  second  fingers  of  his  hand,  spread  wide),  and 
through  that  cranny  shall  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  whisper. 

Quince.  If  that  may  be,  then  all  is  well.  Come,  sit  down,  every  mother's  son,  and 
rehearse  your  parts.  Pyramus,  you  begin.  When  you  have  spoken  your  speech,  enter 
into  that  brake ;  and  so  every  one  according  to  his  cue. 

Just  then  Puck  chanced  to  come  along.  Of  course  he  was  invisible.  He  was 
sure  some  fun  must  be  going  on ;  so  he  thought  he  would  listen,  and  perhaps  take 
part,  if  he  got  a  chance.     Said  he,  — 

What  hempen  home-spuns  have  we  swaggering  here, 
So  near  the  cradle  of  the  fairy  queen  ? 
What,  a  play  toward  ? 1     I  '11  be  an  auditor  ; 
An  actor  too,  perhaps,  if  I  see  cause. 

And  now  the  play  begins  :  — 

1  Preparing. 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM.  41 

Quince.    Speak,  Pyramus.  —  Thisbe,  stand  forth. 

Py ramus.    "  Thisbe,  the  flowers  have  odious  savors  sweet,"  — 

Quince.    Odors,  odors. 

Pyramus.  "  odors  savors  sweet  : 

So  hath  thy  breath,  my  dearest  Thisbe,  dear.  — 
But,  hark,  a  voice  !  stay  thou  but  here  awhile, 

And  by  and  by  I  will  to  thee  appear." 

Pyramus  (that  is,  Bottom,  the  weaver)  goes  out,  and  mischievous  Puck  goes 
after  him.     Then  says  Flute,  the  tinker,  in  the  character  of  Thisbe,  — 

Must  I  speak  now  ? 

Quince.  Ay,  marry,  must  you  ;  for  you  must  understand,  he  goes  but  to  see  a 
noise  that  he  heard,  and  is  to  come  again. 

Thisbe.  "  Most  radiant  Pyramus,  most  lily-white  of  hue, 

Of  color  like  the  red  rose  on  triumphant  brier, 
Most  brisky  juvenal,  and  eke  most  lovely  Jew, 

As  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  would  never  tire, 
I  '11  meet  thee,  Pyramus,  at  Ninny's  tomb." 
Quince.    Ninus'  tomb,  man.     Why,  you  must  not  speak  that  yet;  that  you  answer 
to  Pyramus.     You  speak  all  your  part  at  once,  cues  a  and  all.  —  Pyramus,  enter  :  your 
cue  is  past  ;  it  is,  "  never  tire." 

At  this  point  in  comes  Puck  leading  Bottom,  on  whose  shoulders  the  rogue,  by 
his  fairy  power,  has  placed  an  ass's  head.  Of  course  Bottom  knows  nothing  about 
the  change  in  his  own  looks,  and  when  Thisbe  says,  — 

"  As  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  would  never  tire," 

he  answers,  as  Pyramus  ought  to,  — 

"  If  I  were  fair,  Thisbe,  I  were  only  thine." 

At  the  sight  of  such  a  frightful  creature,  with  the  body  of  a  man  and  the  head  of 
an  ass,  speaking  and  taking  part  in  their  play,  they  all  shriek  with  terror.     Quince 

cries  out,  — 

O  monstrous  !  O  strange  !     We  are  haunted. 
Pray,  masters  !  fly,  masters  !  help  ! 

They  all  run  away,  and  leave  poor  Bottom  in  great  distress,  both  surprised  and 
hurt  at  their  conduct.  Puck  is  delighted.   He  dances,  and  capers  about,  and  sings,  — 

I  '11  follow  you,  I  '11  lead  you  about  a  round, 
Through  bog,  through  bush,  through  brake,  through  brier : 

Sometimes  a  horse  I  '11  be,  sometimes  a  hound, 
A  hog,  a  headless  bear,  sometimes  a  fire  ; 

a  Cue  —  A  theatrical  term,  meaning  the  last  words  of  any  speech,  set  down  as  a  signal  to  the 
actor  who  is  to  speak  next. 


42 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

And  neigh,  and  bark,  and  grunt,  and  roar,  and  burn, 
Like  horse,  hound,  hog,  bear,  fire,  at  every  turn.a 


And  off  he  goes  after  the  poor  frightened  clowns. 


After  they  had  all  disappeared  Bottom  said,  — 

Why  do  they  all  run  away?  I  see  their  knavery.  This  is  to  make  an  ass  of 
me,  to  fright  me,  if  they  could  ;  but  I  will  not  stir  from  this  place,  do  what  they  can. 
I  will  walk  up  and  down  here,  and  I  will  sing,  that  they  shall  hear  I  am  not  afraid. 

[Sings. 
The  07isel-cock,1  so  black  of  hue, 

With  orange-tawny  bill, 
The  throstle 2  with  his  note  so  true, 
The  wren  with  little  quill. 

At  the  sound  of  this  noise,  which  Bottom  was  pleased  to  call  singing,  Queen 
Titania,  who  had  been  sleeping  near  by,  suddenly  awoke.  Her  eyes,  you  remember, 
had  been  touched  by  the  magic  flower,  and  she  could  not  see  anything  as  it  really 
was.  To  her  sight,  Bottom,  the  rough  and  clumsy  Bottom,  with  the  ass's  head  on  his 
shoulders,  was  more  beautiful  than  her  own  King  Oberon,  and  his  roaring  was 
sweeter  than  the  song  of  the  nightingale. 


1  Blackbird.  2  Thrush. 

See  the  ballad  of  the  "Pranks  of  Robin  Goodfellovv,"  p.  71. 


A    MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S    DREAM.  43 

Titania.  What  angel  wakes  me  from  my  flowery  bed  ? 

I  pray  thee,  gentle  mortal,  sing  again  : 

Mine  ear  is  much  enamored  of  thy  note, 

So  is  mine  eye  enthralled  to  thy  shape  ; 

And  thy  fair  virtue's  force  perforce  doth  move  me, 

On  the  first  view,  to  say,  to  swear,  I  love  thee. 
Bottom.    Methinks,  mistress,  you  should  have  little  reason  for  that :  and  yet,  to 
say  the  truth,  reason  and  love  keep  little  company  together  now-a-days. 
Titania.    Thou  art  as  wise  as  thou  art  beautiful. 

Bottom.    Not  so,  neither  ;  but  if  I  had  wit  enough  to  get  out  of  this  wood,  I  have 
enough  to  serve  mine  own  turn. 

Titania.  Out  of  this  wood  do  not  desire  to  go : 

Thou  shalt  remain  here,  whether  thou  wilt  or  no. 

I  am  a  spirit  of  no  common  rate ; 

The  summer  still  doth  tend  upon  my  state, 

And  I  do  love  thee  :  therefore,  go  with  me  ; 

I  '11  give  thee  fairies  to  attend  on  thee  ; 

And  they  shall  fetch  thee  jewels  from  the  deep, 

And  sing  while  thou  on  pressed  flowers  dost  sleep  : 

And  I  will  purge  thy  mortal  grossness  so, 

That  thou  shalt  like  an  airy  spirit  go.  — 

Peas-blossom  !   Cobweb  !  Moth  !  and  Mustard-seed  ! 

At  this  summons  four  queer-looking  little  fairies  come  dancing  in.     As  Titania 
calls  them  by  name,  they  fold  their  tiny  wings  and  answer,  — 

i  Fairy.  Ready. 

2  Fairy.  And  I. 

3  Fairy.  And  I . 

4  Fairy.  Where  shall  we  go  ? 
Titania.  "        Be  kind  and  courteous  to  this  gentleman  : 

Hop  in  his  walks,  and  gambol  in  his  eyes  ; 
Feed  him  with  apricocks  x  and  dewberries,2 
With  purple  grapes,  green  figs,  and  mulberries. 
Their  honey  bags  steal  from  the  humble-bees,a 
And  for  night  tapers  crop  their  waxen  thighs, 
And  light  them  at  the  fiery  glow-worm's  eyes, 
To  have  my  love  to  bed,  and  to  arise  ; 
And  pluck  the  wings  from  painted  butterflies, 
To  fan  the  moon-beams  from  his  sleeping  eyes. 
Nod  to  him,  elves,  and  do  him  courtesies. 

1  Fairy.  Hail,  mortal. 

2  Fairy.  Hail ! 

3  Fairy.   Hail ! 

4  Fairy.  Hail ! 


1  Apricots.  2  Blackberries. 

The  same  as  our  bumble-bee  ;  called  humble-bee  from  the  humming  noise  it  makes. 


44 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 


Bottom.    I  cry  your  worship's  mercy,  heartily.  —  I  beseech  your  worship's  name. 

Cobweb.    Cobweb. 

Bottoin.  I  shall  desire  of  you  more  acquaintance,  good  master  Cobweb.  If  I  cut 
my  finger,  I  shall  make  bold  with  you.  —  Your  name,  honest  gentleman  ? 

Peas-blossom.    Peas-blossom. 

Bottom.  I  pray  you,  commend  me  to  mistress  Squash, a  your  mother,  and  to  master 
Peascod,  your  father.  Good  master  Peas-blossom,  I  shall  desire  of  you  more  acquaint- 
ance too.  —  Your  name,  I  beseech  you,  sir  ? 


»  The  allusions  to  the  squash  in  Shakespeare  are  not  to  the  American  squash ;  the  word 
means  any  young  unripe  pod.     Peascod  is  what  we  call  pea-pod. 


A   MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


45 


Mustard-seed.    Mustard-seed. 

Bottom.  Good  master  Mustard-seed,  I  know  your  patience  well :  that  same  cow- 
ardly, giant-like  ox-beef  hath  devoured  many  a  gentleman  of  your  house.  I  promise 
you,  your  kindred  hath  made  my  eyes  water  ere  now.  I  desire  of  you  more  acquaint- 
ance, good  master  Mustard-seed. 

Titania.    Come,  wait  upon  him  :  lead  him  to  my  bower. 

And  so  this  funny  procession  —  poor  donkey-headed  Nick,  lumbering  along, 
escorted  by  these  droll  little  children  of  the  air  —  makes  its  way  toward  the  leafy 
chamber  of  the  Fairy  Queen. 


VI. 


Act  III.     Scene  2. 


HILE  this  was  going  on,  Oberon,  in  another  part  of  the  wood, 
was  seeking  his  servant  Puck,  quite  anxious  to  know  what  had 
happened  to  Titania,  and  also  whether  the  charm  had  been  suc- 
cessful with  Demetrius. 


Oberon.    I  wonder  if  Titania  be  awaked  ; 
Then,  what  it  was  that  next  came  in  her  eye, 
Which  she  must  dote  on  in  extremity. 

Enter  Puck. 
Here  comes  my  messenger.  —  How  now,  mad  spirit? 
What  night-rule 1  now  about  this  haunted  grove  ? 
Puck.   My  mistress  with  a  monster  is  in  love ! 


Then  Puck  goes  on  to  tell  Oberon  what  he  had 
done  to  the  clumsy  clown,  Nick  Bottom,  and 
how  the  others  had  been  so  frightened  by 
this  that  they  ran  away  and  left  Bottom,  with 
the  donkey's  head  on  him,  standing  near 
Titania's  "  close  and  consecrated  bower,"  — 

When,  in  that  moment  (so  it  came  to  pass), 
Titania  waked,  and  straightway  loved  an  ass. 

Oberon.  This  falls  gut  better  than  I  could  devise. 
But  hast  thou  yet  [smeared]  the  Athenian's  eyes 
With  the  love-juice,  as  I  did  bid  thee  do  ? 

Puck.    I  took  him  sleeping  (that  is  finished  too), 
And  the  Athenian  woman  by  his  side. 


1  Revelry. 


A   MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


47 


But,  meanwhile,  Demetrius,  having  at  last  got  clear  of  Helena,  happened 
to  meet  Hermia  looking  for  her  lost  Lysander,  and,  in  spite  of  her  distress 
and  fear,  began  to  tell  again  the  unwelcome  story  of  his  love.  Hermia  really 
feared  that  Demetrius  had  murdered  Lysander,  who  she  was  sure  would  never 
have  stolen  away  from  her  while 
sleeping.  She  used  bitter,  angry 
words,  and  bade  Demetrius  take 
his  hated  presence  from  her 
sight :  — 

"  See  me  no  more,  whether  he  be 
dead  or  no  !  " 

With  these  words  she  left  him. 
Demetrius,  thinking  it  useless  to 
follow  her  in  this  fierce  mood, 
lay  down  to  rest. 

In  this  enchanted  wood  every 
one  seems  to  have  easily  fallen 
asleep,  and  Demetrius  imme- 
diately dropped  into  a  slumber,  as 
the  others  had  done.  But  Oberon, 
being  near,  had  seen  Demetrius 
and  Hermia  together,  and  came 
forward  quite  vexed  with  Puck,  saying,  — 

What  hast  thou  done  ?  thou  hast  mistaken  quite, 
And  laid  the  love-juice  on  some  true-love's  sight : 
About  the  wood  go  swifter  than  the  wind, 
And  Helena  of  Athens  look  thou  find  : 
All  fancy-sick  a  she  is,  and  pale  of  cheer  2 
With  sighs  of  love,  that  cost  the  fresh  blood  dear. 
By  some  illusion  see  thou  bring  her  here  : 
I  '11  charm  his  eyes  against  she  do  appear. 

Puck.    I  go,  I  go  ;  look  how  I  go ; 
Swifter  than  arrow  from  the  Tartar's  bow. 


Puck  hastened  away, 
saying,  as  he  did  so,  — 


Oberon  touched  the   eyes  of  the  sleeping  Demetrius, 


Flower  of  this  purple  dye, 
Hit  with  Cupid's  archery, 
Sink  in  apple  of  his  eye. 
When  his  love  he  doth  espy, 


1  Love-sick. 


2  Countenance. 


48  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE    YOUNG    FOLK. 

Let  her  shine  as  gloriously 
As  the  Venus  of  the  sky. — 
When  thou  wak'st,  if  she  be  by, 
Beg  of  her  for  remedy. 

Re-enter  Puck. 

Puck.    Captain  of  our  fairy  band, 
Helena  is  here  at  hand, 
And  the  youth,  mistook  by  me, 
Pleading  for  a  lover's  fee. 
Shall  we  their  fond  pageant  see  ? 
Lord,  what  fools  these  mortals  be  ! 

Oberon.    Stand  aside  :  the  noise  they  make 
Will  cause  Demetrius  to  awake. 

Puck.    Then  will  two  at  once  woo  one  ; 
That  must  needs  be  sport  alone  ; 
And  those  things  do  best  please  me, 
That  befall  preposterously.1 

And   so  Oberon   and  Puck   stand  aside,  to  see  the   waking   of  the   bewitched 
Demetrius. 

Lysander  had  been  pursuing  Helena  with  his  love  ever  since  he  came  under 
the  influence  of  Oberon's  flower.  Helena  was  grieved  that  he  should  mock  her : 
she  could  not  believe  him  to  be  in  earnest.  They  entered  together,  without  seeing 
Puck  and  Oberon  (who  were  always  invisible),  or  Demetrius,  who  still  lay  asleep. 
While  they  were  yet  speaking,  Demetrius  awoke.  Seeing  Helena,  and  being  now 
under  the  flower-enchantment,  his  old  love  for  her  returned,  and  he  was  as 
ready  now  to  quarrel  with  Lysander  on  her  account  as  he  had  been  before 
on  Hermia's.  They  were  talking  angrily  when  Hermia  entered.  Having  found 
at  last  her  loved  Lysander,  she  ran  to  him  with  joy,  and  asked  him  eagerly 
why  he  had  left  her  so.  He,  still  under  the  influence  of  the  fairy  spell,  replied 
that  it  was  because  he  hated  her.  The  last  time  they  had  been  all  four  to- 
gether, the  two  young  men  had  both  been  in  love  with  Hermia,  and  now  both 
were  pursuing  Helena  with  their  vows.  Poor  Helena  was  more  puzzled  than  ever, 
and  was  convinced  that  her  old  friend  and  playmate,  Hermia,  had  joined  with  the 
two  young  men  to  make  sport  of  her.  "  You  also  are  grown  unkind,  O  cruel, 
ungrateful  Hermia,"  she  exclaimed  ; 

Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shared, 
The  sister-vows,  the  hours  that  we  have  spent, 
When  we  have  chid  the  hasty-footed  time 
For  parting  us,  —  O  !  and  is  all  forgot  ? ' 
All  school-day  friendship,  childhood  innocence  ? 
We,  Hermia,  like  two  artificial2  gods, 

1  Absurdly.  2  Artistic;  skillful. 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM.  49 

Have  with  our  needles  created  both  one  flower. 
Both  on  one  sampler,  sitting  011  one  cushion, 
Both  warbling  of  one  song,  both  in  one  key, 
As  if  our  hands,  our  sides,  voices,  and  minds, 
Had  been  incorporate.1     So  we  grew  together, 
Like  to  a  double  cherry,  seeming  parted, 
But  yet  an  union  in  partition  ; 
Two  loving  berries  moulded  on  one  stem, 
So,  with  two  seeming  bodies,  but  one  heart. 
And  will  you  rend  our  ancient  love  asunder, 
To  join  with  men  in  scorning  your  poor  friend  ? 
What  though  I  be  not  so  in  grace  as  you, 
So  hung  upon  with  love,  so  fortunate, 
But  miserable  most  to  love  unloved, 
This  you  should  pity,  rather  than  despise. 

Hermia.    I  understand  not  what  you  mean  by  this. 

All  this  time  Lysander  and  Demetrius  were  quarrelling.  Hermia  tried  to  sepa- 
rate them,  but  Lysander  was  extremely  rude  to  her,  and  a  great  many  unkind 
things  were  said.  At  last  Demetrius  and  Lysander  rushed  furiously  away  into  the 
forest,  with  drawn  swords,  to  find  a  place  to  fight.  Helena  and  Hermia  also  went 
away,  in  different  directions,  both  of  them  unhappy,  and  puzzled  to  understand 
how  it  had  all  happened.  After  they  had  disappeared,  Oberon  came  forward  and 
scolded  Puck :  — 

This  is  thy  negligence  :   still  thou  mistak'st, 

Or  else  commit'st  thy  knaveries  wilfully. 

Puck.    Believe  me,  king  of  shadows,  I  mistook. 

Did  you  not  tell  me  I  should  know  the  man 

By  the  Athenian  garments  he  had  on  ? 

And  so  far  blameless  proves  my  enterprise, 

That  I  have  'nointed  an  Athenian's  eyes  ; 

And  so  far  am  I  glad  it  so  did  sort,2 

As  this  their  jangling  I  esteem  a  sport. 

Oberon.   Thou  seest  these  lovers  seek  a  place  to  fight  : 

Hie,  therefore,  Robin,  overcast  the  night ; 

And  lead  these  testy  rivals  so  astray, 

That  one  come  not  within  another's  way, 

Till  o'er  their  brows  death-counterfeiting  sleep, 

With  leaden  legs  and  batty  wings,  doth  creep. 

Then  crush  this  herb  into  Lysander's  eye  ; 

{Giving  him  another  flower. 

Whose  liquor  hath  this  virtuous  property, 

To  take  from  thence  all  error  with  its  might, 

And  make  his  eyeballs  roll  with  wonted  sight. 

1  United  in  one.  2  Happen. 


50  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

When  they  next  wake,  all  this  derision 

Shall  seem  a  dream,  and  fruitless  vision  : 

And  back  to  Athens  shall  the  lovers  wend, 

With  league,  whose  date  till  death  shall  never  end. 

Whilst  I  in  this  affair  do  thee  employ, 

I  '11  to  my  queen,  and  beg  her  Indian  boy  ; 

And  then  I  will  her  charmed  eye  release 

From  monster's  view,  and  all  things  shall  be  peace. 

Puck.    My  fairy  lord,  this  must  be  done  with  haste, 
For  night's  swift  dragons  cut  the  clouds  full  fast, 
And  yonder  shines  Aurora's  harbinger. 

Oberon.  Make  no  delay: 

We  may  effect  this  business  yet  ere  day. 

Then  Oberon  goes  off  to  Titania.     Puck,  in  great  glee,  laughs  and  sings,  — 

Up  and  down,  up  and  down  ; 
I  will  lead  them  up  and  down  : 
I  am  feared  in  field  and  town ; 
Goblin,  lead  them  up  and  down. 
Here  comes  one. 


And  at  this  moment  Lysander  enters.  Puck  calls  out  to  him  in  the  voice  of 
Demetrius,  daring  him  to  follow  to  more  open  ground  that  they  may  fight,  and  off 
rushes  Lysander  after  the  voice.  Then  Puck  turns  about  and  in  the  same  way 
fools  Demetrius,  who  is  not  far  behind ;  and  he  keeps  up  this  merry  farce  until  he 
has  tired  them  both  out,  and  leaves  them  at  last  fast  asleep  on  the  turf  where  they 
have  thrown  themselves,  one  after  the  other,  and  each  unconscious  that  the  other 
is  so  near. 

Soon  after  this  Helena  came  wearily  along.  In  the  dusky  shadow  of  the 
wood,  seeing  no  one,  she  too  lay  down  and  slept.  And  shortly  Hermia,  sore- 
footed  and  weeping,  bedabbled  with  the  dew  and  torn  with  briers,  crawled  to 
the  self-same  spot,  and,  equally  under  the  spell  of  the  place,  lay  down,  and  soon 
was  soundly  slumbering  like  the  rest.  Puck  danced  joyfully  around  them,  saying 
or  singing,  — 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


51 


On  the  ground  sleep  sound  : 
I  '11  apply  to  your  eye, 
Gentle  lover,  remedy. 

[A  nointing  Lysander's  eyes  with  the  second  flower. 
When  thou  wak'st,  see  thou  tak'st 
True  delight  in  the  sight 
Of  thy  former  lady's  eye : 
And  the  country  proverb  known, 
That  every  man  should  take  his  own, 
In  your  waking  shall  be  shown  : 

Jack  shall  have  Jill ; 

Nought  shall  go  ill ; 
The  man  shall  have  his  mare  again, 
And  all  shall  be  well. 

Then  he  bounded  away  into  the  forest,  leaving  Helena  and  Hermia,  Demetrius 
and  Lysander,  all  fast  asleep  on  the  ground. 


->»a 


VII. 


Act  IV.     Scenes  i,  2. 

JT  of  all  the  mischievous  pranks  of  Puck,  the  most 
absurd  was  that  which  he  had  played  on  Bottom, 
the  weaver,  to  whom  he  had  given  the  donkey's 
head ;  and  Puck  himself  could  not  have  wished  a  more  ridiculous  effect  from  the 
magic  flower  with  which  Titania's  eyes  had  been  bewitched,  than  the  caresses 
which  she  bestowed  upon  this  monstrous  creature,  who  was  to  her  view  the  love- 
liest of  his  sex.  There  she  sat,  in  all  her  beauty,  in  her  forest  bower,  and  while 
her  attendants  waited  upon  the  ill-matched  couple,  she  held  in  her  lap  the  long- 
eared  head,  and  wreathed  the  hairy  brows  with  flowers. 

All  the  while  Oberon  stood  behind,  unseen.     He  had  recently  met  Titania  in 
the  wood,  and  her  new  love  had  made  her  so  meek  that  she  had  borne  all  his 
taunts  with  patience,  and  even  yielded  to  him  the  Indian  boy.     So  now  he  pitied 
her,  and  resolved  to  deliver  her  from  the  spell  of  the  magic  flower. 
Titania  says  to  her  shaggy  darling,  — 

Come,  sit  thee  down  upon  this  flowery  bed, 

While  I  thy  amiable  cheeks  do  coy,1 
And  stick  musk-roses  in  thy  sleek  smooth  head, 

And  kiss  thy  fair  large  ears,  my  gentle  joy. 

Bottom.    Where 's  Peas-blossom  ? 

Peas-blossom.    Ready. 

Bottom.    Scratch  my  head,  Peas-blossom. —  Where  's  monsieur  Cobweb  ? 

Cobweb.    Ready. 


1  Stroke. 


A    MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S    DREAM.  53 

Bottom.  Monsieur  Cobweb  ;  good  monsieur,  get  your  weapons  in  your  hand,  and 
kill  me  a  red-hipped  humble-bee  on  die  top  of  a  thistle  ;  and,  good  monsieur,  bring  me 
the  honey-bag.  Do  not  fret  yourself  too  much  in  the  action,  monsieur  ;  and,  good 
monsieur,  have  a  care  the  honey-bag  break  not :  I  would  be  loath  to  have  you  over- 
flowed with  a  honey-bag,  signior.  —  Where  's  monsieur  Mustard-seed  ? 
Mustard-seed.    Ready. 

Bottom.  Give  me  your  neif,1  monsieur  Mustard-seed.  Pray  you,  leave  your  cour- 
tesy,2 good  monsieur. 

Mustard-seed.    What 's  your  will  ? 

Bottom.  Nothing,  good  monsieur,  but  to  help  Cavalero  Peas-blossom  to  scratch. 
I  must  to  the  barber's,  monsieur  ;  for,  methinks,  I  am  marvellous  hairy  about  the  face, 
and  I  am  such  a  tender  ass,  if  my  hair  do  but  tickle  me,  I  must  scratch. 
Titania.    What,  wilt  thou  hear  some  music,  my  sweet  love  ? 

Bottom.  I  have  a  reasonable  good  ear  in  music:  let's  have  the  tongs  and  the 
bones. a  ,       [Rural  music. 

Titania.    Or,  say,  sweet  love,  what  thou  desirest  to  eat. 

Bottom.    Truly,  a  peck  of  provender  :    I  could  munch  your  good  dry  oats.     Me- 
thinks, I  have  a  great  desire  to  a  bottle  b  of  hay  :  good  hay,  sweet  hay,  hath  no  fellow. 
Titania.  I  have  a  venturous  fairy  that  shall  seek 

The  squirrel's  hoard,  and  fetch  thee  thence  new  nuts. 
Bottom.   I  had  rather  have  a  handful  or  two  of  dried  peas.    But,  I  pray  you,  let  none 
of  your  people  stir  me :   I  have  an  exposition  of  sleep  come  upon  me. 

Titania.  Fairies,  be  gone,  and  be  a  while  away.  [Fairies go  away. 

Sleep  thou,  and  I  will  wind  thee  in  my  arms. 
So  doth  the  woodbine  the  sweet  honeysuckle 
Gently  entwist :  the  female  ivy  so 
Enrings  the  barky  fingers  of  the  elm. 
O,  how  I  love  thee  !  how  I  dote  on  thee  ! 

Hardly  had  they  fallen  asleep  in  this  loving  attitude  when  in  comes  Puck,  his 
jolly  face  all  lighted  up  with  glee,  as  he  fairly  jumps  for  joy  at  the  mischief  worked 
by  the  little  flower.  King  Oberon  saw  Puck,  and  went  forward  to  meet  him, 
saying,  — 

Welcome,  good  Robin  !    Seest  thou  this  sweet  sight? 

Her  dotage  now  I  do  begin  to  pity  ; 

For  meeting  her  of  late  behind  the  wood, 

Seeking  sweet  savors  for  this  hateful  fool, 

I  did  upbraid  her,  and  fall  out  with  her; 

For  she  his  hairy  temples  then  had  rounded 

1  Fist.  .  2  Bowing. 

a  The  tongs  and  the  bones  were  rustic  music,  common  in  Shakespeare's  time.  The  tongs 
was  a  rough  instrument,  struck"  by  a  key,  and  making  a  ringing  sound  like  a  triangle ;  the 
bones  were  "  clappers,"  such  as  are  used  by  boys  at  the  present  day. 

b  A  bottle  of  hay  was  a  truss,  or  bundle,  of  hay ;  a  word  yet  in  use  in  the  northern  part  of 
England. 


54 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 


Titania.    O,  how  I  love  thee  !  how  I  dote  on  thee  ! 


With  coronet  of  fresh  and  fragrant  flowers ; 
And  that  same  dew,  which  sometime  on  the  buds 
Was  wont  to  swell  like  round  and  orient  pearls, 
Stood  now  within  the  pretty  flowerets'  eyes, 
Like  tears  that  did  their  own  disgrace  bewail. 
When  I  had  at  my  pleasure  taunted  her, 
And  she  in  mild  terms  begged  my  patience, 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM.  55 

I  then  did  ask  of  her  her  changeling  child, 

Which  straight  she  gave  me  ;  and  her  fairy  sent 

To  bear  him  to  my  bower  in  fairy  land. 

And  now  I  have  the  boy,  I  will  undo 

This  hateful  imperfection  of  her  eyes  : 

And,  gentle  Puck,  take  this  transformed  scalp 

From  off  the  head  of  this  Athenian  swain, 

That  he,  awaking  when  the  other  do, 

May  all  to  Athens  back  again  repair, 

And  think  no  more  of  this  night's  accidents, 

But  as  the  fierce  vexation  of  a  dream. 

But  first  I  will  release  the  fairy  queen. 

Be,  as  thou  wast  wont  to  be  ; 

[Anointing  her  eyes  with  the  last  flower, 

See,  as  thou  wast  wont  to  see ; 

Dian's  bud  o'er  Cupid's  flower 

Hath  such  force  and  blessed  power. 
Now,  my  Titania !  wake  you,  my  sweet  queen. 

Titania  {waking).     My  Oberon  !  what  visions  have  I  seen  ! 
Methought  I  was  enamored  of  an  ass. 
Oberon.    There  lies  your  love. 
Titania.  How  came  these  things  to  pass  ? 

O,  how  mine  eyes  do  loathe  his  visage  now  ! 

So  all  was  right  again  between  the  fairy  king  and  queen.  Presently  Oberon, 
looking  about  the  pretty  dell  where  Puck's  quick  wit  and  activity  had  brought 
together  the  two  furious  young  men,  the  two  unhappy  damsels,  and  Bottom  the 
weaver,  all  lying  asleep  in  that  charmed  fairy  circle  in  the  wood,  spoke  out  and 
commanded  silence  for  a  while.  Then  he  asked  Titania  to  call  for  "  music  such 
as  charmeth  sleep,"  which  should  " strike  more  dead  than  commfin  sleep"  the 
senses  of  all  the  five.     Calling  to  Puck,  he  cried,  — 

Robin,  take  off  this  head. 

Puck  sprang  forward,  and  with  his  elfish  power  changed  poor  old  Bottom  back 
again  to  his  natural  form,  saying,  as  he  did  it,  — 

Now,  when  thou  wak'st,  with  thine  own  fool's  eyes  peep. 

"  Sound,  music  !  "  cried  King  Oberon  ;  and  as  the  soft  music  began,  weaving 
a  magic  spell  of  slumber  over  the  sleeping  five,  he  called  to  Titania,  — 

Come  my  queen,  take  hands  with  me, 
And  rock  the  ground  whereon  these  sleepers  be. 

Then  they  danced  round  the  sleepers  until  they  heard  the  note  of  the  morning 
lark,  when  they  followed  the  shadows  of  the  night,  and  vanished  away. 


56 


SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 


All  was  now  quiet  in  the  shady  forest,  and  the  four  lovers  were  so  sound  asleep 
that  they  did  not  hear  the  hunting-horns  in  the  distance,  and  were  quite  uncon- 
scious of  the  approach  of  Duke  Theseus  and  Queen  Hippolyta,  with  their  train  of 
noblemen  and  huntsmen,  who  had  come  forth  at  the  dawn  of  day  to  chase  the 
dappled  deer. 

Theseus  had  been  telling  Hippolyta  about  his  fine  hunting-dogs  of  Spartan 
breed,  and  he  asked  her  to  come  up  on  the  mountain-top,  and  hear  the  beautiful 
music  of  their  baying  and  the  echo  answering  it.  Suddenly  he  espied  the  lovers  on 
the  ground,  and  asked  Egeus  who  they  were.  The  old  lord  recognizes  his  daughter 
there  asleep,  and  then  Lysander,  Demetrius,  and  Helena,  and  he  wonders  how  they 
should  be  out  thus  in  the  woods  together  at  such  a  time  ;  but  the  Duke  thinks  they 
probably  came  out  for  an  early  Maying  party,  and  orders  that  the  huntsmen  shall 
wake  them  with  their  horns.  At  the  sound  of  the  horns  so  near  them,  they  all 
start  up,  and,  seeing  Theseus  and  his  splendid  party,  hardly  know  whether  they  are 
awake  or  asleep. 

The  Duke  greeted  them  kindly,  and  heard  their  story.  When  he  found  that 
Lysander  and  Hermia  were  still  true  to  each  other,  and  that  Helena  had  again  won 
Demetrius's  love,  he  told  Egeus  that  he  would  overrule  his  wishes,  and  the  lovers 
should  be  married  in  the  temple  at  the  same  time  with  Hippolyta  and  himself. 
Then  the  Duke  and  his  train,  the  courtiers,  and  the  huntsmen  went  away,  leaving 
the  four  lovers  happy  indeed,  but  so  bewildered  that  they  could  not  feel  quite  sure 
they  were  not  still  dreaming.  After  reasoning  about  it  among  themselves,  and 
calling  to  mind  the  Duke's  very  words,  they  decided  that  they  were  really  awake, 

and  followed  as  they  had  been  commanded,  agree- 
ing to  tell  their  dreams  to  one  another  on  the  way. 

No  one  was  left  now  in  the  dell  but  Bottom  ;  and 
he  too  presently  awoke,  just  as  the  others  went  out, 
with  rather  confused  ideas  as  to  where  and  what  he 
was.  He  remembered  that  he  had  been  playing 
Pyramus,  and  thought  it  must  be  time  for  his  cue,  or 
signal  to  go  upon  the  stage.  As  he  became  more 
thoroughly  awakened,  he  recalled  something  strange, 
which,  after  puzzling  over  it  for  a  while,  he  was  quite 
certain  must  have  been  a  dream.  As  he  first  started 
up,  on  waking,  he  said,  — 

When  my  cue  comes,  call  me,  and  I  will  answer  :  — 

my  next  is,    "Most  fair  Pyramus." Hey,    ho!  — 

Peter  Quince  !  Flute  !  Snout !  Starveling  !     God  's  my 
life  !  a  stolen  hence,  and  left  me  asleep.     I  have  had  a  most  rare  vision.     I  have  had  a 


a  God'' 's  my  life  ! —  One  of  the  curious  exclamations  common  in  Shakespeare's  time.  In 
another  of  his  plays  ("  Much  Ado  about  Nothing")  one  of  his  characters  says,  "God  's  my 
life !  where 's  the  sexton  ? " 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


57 


dream,  —  past  the  wit  of  man  to  say  what  dream  it  was  :  man  is  but  an  ass,  if  he  go 
about  to  expound  this  dream.  Methought  I  was  —  there  is  no  man  can  tell  what. 
Methought  I  was,  and  methought  I  had,  — but  man  is  but  a  patched81  fool,  if  he  will 
offer  to  say  what  methought  I  had.  The  eye  of  man  hath  not  heard,  the  ear  of  man 
hath  not  seen,  man's  hand  is  not  able  to  taste,  his  tongue  to  conceive,  nor  his  heart  to 
report,  what  my  dream  was.  I  will  get  Peter  Quince  to  write  a  ballad  of  this  dream : 
it  shall  be  called  Bottom's  Dream,  because  it  hath  no  bottom,  and  1  will  sing  it  in  the 
latter  end  of  our  play,  before  the  duke  :  peradventure,  to  make  it  the  more  °racious 
I  shall  sing  it  after  death. b 

Then  Bottom  hastened  away  to  find  his  companions. 

We  can  imagine  how  our  actors  felt  when  they  had  just  lost  their  principal 
performer,  as  they  thought,  forever.  Quince,  Flute,  Snout,  and  Starveling  were  in 
a  room  in  Quince's  house,  talking  about  this  strange  thing  that  had  happened 
to  Pyramus  Bottom.  Nothing  had  been  heard  of  him  anywhere,  not  even  at  his 
own  house.  They  thought  he  must  have  been  "transported,"  —  by  which  they 
meant  translated,  or  carried  bodily  to  some  other  world.  They  were  sure  that  no 
one  else  in  all  Athens  could  play  Pyramus,  and  so  their  play  was  spoiled.  Such  a 
pity  !  Just  then  Snug  came  in,  all  out  of  breath  with  the  news,  and  shouted  : 
"  Masters,  the  Duke  is  coming  from  the  temple,  and  there  is  two  or  three  lords 
and  ladies  more  married.  If  our  sport  had  gone  forward,  we  had  all  been  made 
men,"  —  that  is,  their  fortunes  would  have  been  made.  The  rest  joined  in  the 
wail :  — 

Flute.  O,  sweet  bully  Bottom  !  Thus  hath  he  lost  sixpence  a-day  during  his  life  ; 
he  could  not  have  'scaped  sixpence  a-day:  if  the  Duke  had  not  given  him  sixpence 
a-day  for  playing  Pyramus,  I  '11  be  hanged  ;  he  would  have  deserved  it :  sixpence  a-day 
in  Pyramus,  or  nothing. 

While  they  were  thus  lamenting  the  loss  of  the  play,  and  the  strange  disap- 
pearance of  Nick  Bottom,  that  worthy  came  blustering  in,  crying  out,  — 

Where  are  these  lads  ?  where  are  these  hearts  ? 

Quince.    Bottom  !  —  O  most  courageous  day  !     O  most  happy  hour  ! 

Bottom.  Masters,  I  am  to  discourse  wonders  ;  but  ask  me  not  what,  for,  if  I  tell 
you,  I  am  no  true  Athenian. 

Quince.    Let  us  hear,  sweet  Bottom. 

Bottom.  [No] ;  not  a  word  of  me.  All  that  I  will  tell  you  is,  that  the  Duke  hath 
dined.  Get  your  apparel  together  ;  good  strings0  to  your  beards,  new  ribbons  to  your 
pumps  :  meet  presently  at  the  palace ;  every  man  look  o'er  his  part ;  for,  the  short  and 
the  long  is,  our  play  is  [presented].     In  any  case  let  Thisbe  have  clean  linen,  and  let 

a  This  probably  refers  to  the  many-colored  dress  worn  by  the  professional  fools  or  jesters 
in  those  days. 

b  That  is,  after  his  death  as  Pyramus,  in  the  play. 
c  Strings  —  to  tie  on  the  false  beards. 


58 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 


not  him  that  plays  the  lion  pare  his  nails,  for  they  shall  hang  out  for  the  lion's  claws. 
And,  most  dear  actors,  eat  no  onions,  nor  garlic,  for  we  are  to  utter  sweet  breath,  and 
I  do  not  doubt  but  to  hear  them  say,  it  is  a  sweet  comedy.  No  more  words  :  away  ! 
go  ;  away  ! 

And,  too  delighted  at  Bottom's  reappearance  to  stop  for  the  further  satisfying 
of  their  curiosity,  they  all  went  out  noisily  to  prepare  for  the  play. 


VIII. 


Act  V.     Scene  i. 

ND  now  the  wedding-day  had  come,  and  the  ducal  party  was 
assembled  in  an  apartment  of  the  palace.  They  found  it 
hard  to  believe  the  story  of  the  lovers'  adventures  in  the 
wood.  "  T  is  strange,  my  Theseus,"  said  Hippolyta,  "that 
these  lovers  speak  of ; "  and  Theseus  replied,  — 

More  strange  than  true.    I  never  may  believe 
These  antique  fables,  nor  these  fairy  toys. 
Here  come  the  lovers,  full  of  joy  and  mirth. 

The  two  happy  pairs  now  arrive  as  the  Duke's  guests,  and  Philostrate,  the 
manager  of  the  revels,  hands  to  the  Duke  a  list  of  the  entertainments,  from  which 
he  may  choose  the  evening's  sport, 
to  "  beguile  the  lazy  time."  The 
Duke  noticed  the  odd  title  of  the 
clowns'  play.  "What's  this?" 
said  he,  — 

A  tedious  brief  scene  of  young  Py- 
ramids 

And  his  love  Thisbe ;  very  tragical 
mirth. 

Merry  and  tragical!     Tedious  and 

brief  ! 
That    is,    hot    ice,    and    wondrous 

[swarthy]  snow. 
How  shall  we  find  the  concord  of 
this  discord  ? 
What  are  they  that  do  play  it  ? 

Philostrate.   Hard-handed  men,  that  work  in  Athens  here, 
Which  never  labored  in  their  minds  till  now  ; 


60  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

And  now  have  toiled  their  unbreathed  J  memories 
With  this  same  play,  against  your  nuptial. 
Theseus.  I  will  hear  that  play  : 

For  never  any  thing  can  be  amiss, 
When  simpleness  and  duty  tender  it. 
Go,  bring  them  in  ;  —  and  take  your  places,  ladies. 

Then  Philostrate  goes  out  to  bring  in  the  performers. 

After  the  company  are  all  seated,  there  is  a  great  flourish  of  trumpets,  and 
Philostrate  introduces  the  Prologue,  in  the  person  of  Peter  Quince,  the  carpenter. 
He  recites  his  piece,  which  is  meant  to  tell  the  story  of  the  play ;  but  he  goes  on 
without  any  stops  for  punctuation ;  or  rather  he  stops  always  in  the  wrong  place, 
so  that  it  makes  very  droll  nonsense  like  this  :  — 

Prologue.    "  If  we  offend,  it  is  with  our  good  will. 

That  you  should  think,  we  come  not  to  offend, 
But  with  good-will.     To  show  our  simple  skill, 

That  is  the  true  beginning  of  our  end. 
Consider,  then,  we  come  but  in  despite. 

We  do  not  come  as  minding  to  content  you, 
Our  true  intent  is.     All  for  your  delight, 

We  are  not  here.     That  you  should  here  repent  you. 
The  actors  are  at  hand  ;  and,  by  their  show, 
You  shall  know  all  that  you  are  like  to  know."  a 

At  this  all  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  court  laughed  and  joked  among  them- 
selves over  the  queer  jumble  of  words. 
Now  came  the  "  dumb  show."  b 

Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  Wall,  Moonshine,  and  Lion  come  in  and  show  themselves, 
while  a  man,  called  the  Presenter,  introduces  them  to  the  audience,  and  talks 
about  them  thus  :  — 

"  Gentles,  perchance,  you  wonder  at  this  show; 
But  wonder  on,  till  truth  make  all  things  plain. 

1  Unpractised. 
a  This  speech,  pointed  as  it  ought  to  have  been,  would  read  as  follows  :  — 

"  If  we  offend,  it  is  with  our  good  will 
That  you  should  think  we  come  not  to  offend ; 
But  with  good  will  to  show  our  simple  skill: 
That  is  the  true  beginning  of  our  end. 
Consider  then.     We  come  ;  but  in  despite 
We  do  not  come.     As  minding  to  content  you, 
Our  true  intent  is  all  for  your  delight. 
We  are  not  here  that  you  should  here  repent  you. 
The  actors  are  at  hand  ;  and  by  their  show 
You  shall  know  all  that  you  are  like  to  know." 

b  It  was  the  custom  in  the  theatres  of  Shakespeare's  time  (and  he  has  imagined  it  to  have 
been  in  ancient  Athens  also)  for  all  the  characters  of  a  play  to  appear  in  a  row  upon  the  stage, 
saying  nothing,  but  simply  standing  to  be  looked  at,  while  the  Presenter  introduced  them  by 
name  to  the  audience. 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S   DREAM.  6l 

This  man  is  Pyramus,  if  you  would  know  ; 

This  beauteous  lady  Thisbe  is,  certain. 
This  man,  with  loam  and  rough-cast,  doth  present 

Wall,  that  vile  wall  which  did  these  lovers  sunder ; 
And  through  wall's  chink,  poor  souls,  they  are  content 

To  whisper,  at  the  which  let  no  man  wonder. 
This  man,  with  lantern,  dog,  and  bush  of  thorn, 

Presenteth  Moonshine  ;  for,  if  you  will  know, 
By  moonshine  did  these  lovers  think  no  scorn 

To  meet  at  Ninus'  tomb,  there,  there  to  woo. 
This  grisly  beast,  which  by  name  lion  hight,1 
The  trusty  Thisbe,  coming  first  by  night, 
Did  scare  away,  or  rather  did  affright: 
And,  as  she  fled,  her  mantle  she  did  fall, 

Which  Lion  vile  with  bloody  mouth  did  stain. 
Anon  comes  Pyramus,  sweet  youth  and  tall, 

And  finds  his  gentle  Thisbe's  mantle  slain : 
Whereat,  with  blade,  with  bloody  blameful  blade, 

He  bravely  broached  his  boiling  bloody  breast, 
And  Thisbe,  tarrying  in  mulberry  shade, 

His  dagger  drew,  and  died.     For  all  the  rest, 
Let  Lion,  Moonshine,  Wall,  and  lovers  twain, 
At  large  discourse,  while  here  they  do  remain." 

Then  they  all  marched  out  in  a  row,  and  Duke  Theseus  said,  with  a  laugh,  "  I 
wonder,  if  the  lion  be  to  speak." 

"No  wonder,  my  lord,"  answered  Demetrius;  "one  lion  may,  when  many 

asses  do." 

Next,  Snout  the  tinker,  with  a  rough  coat,  covered  with  loam  and  mortar,  and 
carrying  some  stones,  comes  forward  and  explains  what  he  is  to  do  :  — 

Wall.    "  In  this  same  interlude,  it  doth  befall, 

That  I,  one  Snout  by  name,  present  a  wall ; 

And  such  a  wall,  as  I  would  have  you  think, 

That  had  in  it  a  cranny,  hole,  or  chink, 

Through  which  the  lovers,  Pyramus  and  Thisbe, 

Did  whisper  often  very  secretly. 

This  loam,  this  rough-cast,  and  this  stone,  doth  show 

That  I  am  that  same  wall :  the  truth  is  so  ; 

And  this  the  cranny  is,  right  and  sinister,2 

Through  which  the  fearful  lovers  are  to  whisper." 

Here  the  Duke  leaned  over  and  asked  Demetrius,  "  Would  you  desire  lime 
and  hair  to  speak  better?  " 

"  It  is  the  wittiest  partition  that  ever  I  heard  discourse,  my  lord,"  answered 
the  young  Athenian. 

l  Called.  2  Right  and  left. 


62 


SHAKESPEARE    FOR    THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 


"  Pyramus  draws  near  the  wall,"  said  Theseus  :  "  silence  !  " 
So  Pyramus  comes  in  upon  the  stage,  and,  approaching  the  wall,  in  a  tragic 
manner  begins  the  play  :  — 


"  O  grim-looked  night !     O  night  with  hue  so  black  ! 

0  night,  which  ever  art,  when  day  is  not ! 
O  night !  O  night !  alack,  alack,  alack  ! 

1  fear  my  Thisbe's  promise  is  forgot.  — 
And  thou,  O  wall !  O  sweet,  O  lovely  wall ! 

That  stand'st  between  her  father's  ground  and  mine  ; 
Thou  wall,  O  wall !  O  sweet  and  lovely  wall ! 

Show  me  thy  chink  to  blink  through  with  mine  eyne.1 

[  Wall  holds  tip  his  fingers. 

1  Eyes. 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM.  63 

Thanks,  courteous  wall :  Jove  shield  thee  well  for  this  ! 

But  what  see  I  ?     No  Thisbe  do  I  see. 
O  wicked  wall  !  through  whom  I  see  no  bliss ; 

Curst  be  thy  stones  for  thus  deceiving  me  !  " 

This  seemed  comical  enough  to  Theseus,  who  said,  "The  wall,  methinks, 
being  sensible,  should  curse  again." 

Bottom  was  so  afraid  the  company  would  not  understand  the  play,  that  he  for- 
got he  was  acting,  and,  turning  around  to  the  Duke,  right  in  the  middle  of  his  part, 
he  broke  out,  — 

No,  in  truth,  sir,  he  should  not.  —  "  Deceiving  me,"  is  Thisbe'scue  :  she  is  to  enter 
now,  and  I  am  to  spy  her  through  the  wall.  You  shall  see,  it  will  fall  pat  as  I  told 
you.  — Yonder  she  comes. 

Enter  Thisbe. 

Thisbe.         "  O  wall,  full  often  hast  thou  heard  my  moans, 
For  parting  my  fair  Pyramus  and  me  : 

My  cherry  lips  have  often  kissed  thy  stones ; 

Thy  stones  with  lime  and  hair  knit  up  in  thee." 
Pyramus.    "  I  see  a  voice  :  now  will  I  to  the  chink, 

To  spy  if  I  can  hear  my  Thisbe's  face. 

Thisbe  !  " 
Thisbe.  "  My  love  !  thou  art  my  love,  I  think." 

Pyramus.    "  Think  what  thou  wilt,  I  am  thy  lover's  grace  ; 

And,  like  Limander,"'  am  I  trusty  still." 
Thisbe.         "  And  I  like  Helen,  till  the  fates  me  kill." 
Pyramus.    "  Not  Shafalus  to  Procrus  was  so  true." 
Thisbe.         "As  Shafalus  to  Procrus,  I  to  you." 
Pyramus.    "  O  !  kiss  me  through  the  hole  of  this  vile  wall." 
Thisbe.         "  I  kiss  the  wall's  hole,  not  your  lips  at  all." 
Pyramus.    "  Wilt  thou  at  Ninny's  tomb  meet  me  straightway?" 
Thisbe.         "  'Tide  life,  'tide  death,  I  come  without  delay." 
Wall.  "  Thus  have  I,  Wall,  my  part  discharged  so; 

And,  being  done,  thus  Wall  away  doth  go." 

[Wall,  Pyramus,  and  Thisbe^  out. 

"  Dear,  dear  !  "  exclaimed  Hippolyta,  "  this  is  the  silliest  stuff  I  ever  heard." 
"O,"  answered  Theseus,  "  the  best  things  of  this  kind  are  but  shadows,  and 

need  to  be  made  better  by  one's  imagination.    But  here  come  two  noble  beasts  in, 

a  moon  and  a  lion." 

Snug  the  joiner  enters,  with  a  lion's  skin  over  his  shoulders,  his  own  head 

sticking  out  under  the  lion's  head.     Then,  in  the  sleepiest  voice,  he  drones  out :  — 

a  A  bundle  of  blunders:  Limander  and  Helen  for  Hero  and  Leander ;  Shafalus  and 
Procrus  for  Cephalus  and  Procris,  —  loving  couples  of  the  olden  time,  famous  in  history. 


64 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 


'  You,  ladies,  you,  whose  gentle  hearts  do  fear 

The  smallest  monstrous  mouse  that  creeps  on  floor, 

May  now,  perchance,  both  quake  and  tremble  here, 
When  lion  rough  in  wildest  rage  doth  roar. 

Then  know  that  I,  one  Snug  the  joiner,  am 
No  lion  fell,  nor  else  no  lion's  dam  : 

For,  if  I  should  as  lion  come  in  strife 

Into  this  place,  't  were  pity  of  my  life." 


"  A  very  gentle  beast,  and  of  a  good  conscience,"  said  Theseus. 

"  This  lion  is  a  very  fox  for  valor,"  said  Lysander. 

"  True  ;  and  a  goose  for  discretion,"  rejoined  Theseus  ;  "  but  let  us  listen  to  the 
moon." 

Moonshine  has  a  lantern  in  one  hand,  a  thorn-bush  in  the  other,  and  a 
wretched  little  dog  at  his  heels. 

This  part  was  probably  taken  by  Starveling,  the  tailor,  whose  stammering  utter- 
ance was  made  worse  by  his  forgetting  his  part,  and  being  frightened  almost  out  of 
his  wits.     After  a  gasp  or  two  of  terror,  he  began  :  — 

"  This  lantern  doth  the  horned  moon  present,  — 
This  lantern  doth  the  horned  moon  present ; 
Myself  the  man  in  the  moon  do  seem  to  be." 

Here  the  Duke  smiled  and  said,  "  The  man  should  be  put  into  the  lantern  : 
how  is  he  else  the  man  in  the  moon?  " 

"  He  dares  not  come  there  for  the  candle,"  answered  Demetrius ;  "  for,  you 
see,  it  is  already  in  snuff." 

"  I  am  aweary  of  this  moon,"  whispered  Hippolyta  softly ;  "  I  wish  he 
would  change  !  " 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM.  65 

"  It  appears  by  his  small  light  of  discretion,"  said  the  Duke,  "  that  he  is  in  the 
wane  ;  but  yet,  in  all  reason,  we  must  stay  the  time." 

"Proceed,  moon,"  said  Lysander  impatiently;  and  poor  Starveling  began 
again,  but,  despairing  of  his  part,  spoke  out  in  his  own  proper  person  :  — 

"  All  that  I  have  to  say,  is,  to  tell  you  that  the  lantern  is  the  moon  ;  I,  the  man 
in  the  moon  ;  this  thorn-bush,  my  thorn-bush;  and  this  dog,  my  dog." 

Enter  Thisbe. 

Thisbe.    "  This  is  old  Ninny's  tomb.     Where  is  my  love  ?  " 

Lion.    "  Oh  —  "  [  The  Lion  roars.  —  Thisbe  runs  off. 

"  Well  roared,  lion,"  cried  Demetrius. 
"  Well  run,  Thisbe,"  laughed  the  Duke. 

"Well  shone,  moon,"  said  Hippolyta.  "Truly,  the  moon  shines  with  a  good 
grace."  \_The  Lion  tears  Thisbe's  mantle,  and  goes  out. 

"  Well  moused,  lion,"  added  Theseus.     "  And  now  comes  Pyramus." 

Enter  Pyramus. 

Pyramus.    "  Sweet  moon,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  sunny  beams  ; 
I  thank  thee,  moon,  for  shining  now  so  bright, 
For,  by  thy  gracious,  golden,  glittering  gleams, 
I  trust  to  taste  of  truest  Thisbe's  sight. 

But  stay  ;  —  O  spite  !  [Seeing  Thisbe's  mantle. 

But  mark,  poor  knight, 
What  dreadful  dole  is  here  ! 
Eyes,  do  you  see  ? 
How  can  it  be  ? 
O  dainty  duck  !  O  dear  ! 
Thy  mantle  good, 
What !  stained  with  blood  ? 
Approach,  ye  furies  fell ! 
O  fates  !  come,  come  ; 
Cut  thread  and  thrum  ; a 
Quail,  crush,  conclude,  and  quell  I1 

"  O,  wherefore,  nature,  didst  thou  lions  frame, 
Since  lion  vile  hath  here  defloured  my  dear  ? 
Which  is  —  no,  no  —  which  was,  the  fairest  dame, 

That  lived,  that  loved,  that  liked,  that  looked  with  cheer. 
Come,  tears,  confound  ; 
Out,  sword,  and  wound 
The  pap  of  Pyramus  : 

1  Kill. 
a  An  expression  borrowed  from  weaving. 


66  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Ay,  that  left  pap, 

Where  heart  doth  hop  :  — 
Thus  die  I,  thus,  thus,  thus  !  [Stabs  himself  three  times. 

Now  am  I  dead, 

Now  am  I  fled  ; 
My  soul  is  in  the  sky  : 

Tongue,  lose  thy  light ! 

Moon,  take  thy  flight ! 
Now  die,  die,  die,  die,  die."  [Dies. 

After  the  death  of  Pyramus,  Moonshine  went  out,  leaving  the  place  dark ; 
and  Hippolyta  said,  "  How  chance  Moonshine  is  gone  before  Thisbe  comes  back 
to  find  her  lover?  " 

"  She  will  find  him  by  starlight,"  answered  Theseus.  "  Here  she  comes,  and 
her  passion  ends  the  play." 

"Methinks  she  shouldn't  use  a  long  one  for  such  a  Pyramus,"  rejoined  Hip- 
polyta ;  "  I  hope  she  will  be  brief." 

"  She  hath  spied  him  already  with  those  sweet  eyes,"  said  Lysander  ;  and 
Thisbe  enters,  and,  seeing  Pyramus  lying  on  the  ground,  cries  out :  — 

"  Asleep,  my  love  ? 

What,  dead,  my  dove  ? 
O  Pyramus  !  arise  : 

Speak,  speak  !     Quite  dumb  ? 

Dead,  dead  ?     A  tomb 
Must  cover  thy  sweet  eyes. 

These  lily  lips, 

This  cherry  nose, 
These  yellow  cowslip  cheeks, 

Are  gone,  are  gone. 

Lovers,  make  moan  : 
His  eyes  were  green  as  leeks. 

O !  sisters  three, 

Come,  come  to  me, 
With  hands  as  pale  as  milk  ; 

Lay  them  in  gore, 

Since  you  have  shore 
With  shears  his  thread  of  silk. 

Tongue,  not  a  word  :  — 

Come,  trusty  sword ; 
Come,  blade,  my  breast  imbrue  : 

And  farewell,  friends  !  — 

Thus  Thisbe  ends  : 
Adieu,  adieu,  adieu." 

[Stabs  herself  with  Pyramus's  sword  and  dies. 

"  Moonshine  and  Lion  are  left  to  bury  the  dead,"  then  said  the  Duke. 
"  Ay,  and  Wall  too,"  added  Demetrius. 


A    MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S    DREAM.  67 

"  No,  I  assure  you,"  put  in  Bottom,  as  he  awkwardly  arose  from  his  position 
as  dead  Pyramus  on  the  floor ;  " the  wall  is  down  that  parted  their  fathers.  Will  it 
please  you  to  see  the  epilogue,  or  to  hear  a  Bergomaska  dance  between  two  of  our 
company?" 

"  No  epilogue,  I  pray  you,"  said  the  Duke  ;  "  for  your  play  needs  no  excuse 
Never  excuse,  for  when  the  players  are  all  dead,  there  need  none  to  be  blamed. 
Come,  your  Bergomask  :  let  your  epilogue  alone." 


So  they  dance  their  clog-dance,  till  at  last  the  Duke  rises,  and  gives  the  signal 
for  retiring :  — 

The  iron  tongue  of  midnight  hath  told  twelve.— 
Lovers,  to  bed  :  't  is  almost  fairy  time. 
I  fear  we  shall  out-sleep  the  coming  morn, 
As  much  as  we  this  night  have  overwatched. 
Sweet  friends,  to  bed. 

And  so  the  merry  wedding-party  broke  up,  and  the  company  separated. 

When  the  mirth  and  revelry  were  at  an  end,  and  all  had  retired  for  the  night, 
Puck  entered  the  now  silent  palace  with  a  broom  over  his  shoulder.  The  fairy  peo- 
ple are  very  dainty  and  nice,  and  cannot  bear  to  see  the  least  speck  of  dirt.  Puck's 
office  seems  to  have  been  to  sweep  the  corners  clean,  if,  by  any  mischance  or 
neglect  of  the  maids,  a  bit  of  dust  were  left  behind  the  door.  As  he  begins  his 
work,  he  says,  — 

Now  the  hungry  lion  roars, 

And  the  wolf  behowls  the  moon ; 
Whilst  the  heavy  ploughman  snores, 
All  with  weary  task  fordone.1 


1  Tired  out. 
a  A  rustic  dance,  imitated  from  one  performed  by  the  people  of  Bergomasco,  a  province 
of  Venice,  who  were  ridiculed  by  the  old  buffoons  for  their  rude  and  awkward  manners. 


68  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

And  we  fairies,  that  do  run 

By  the  triple  Hecate's  team,* 
From  the  presence  of  the  sun, 

Following  darkness  like  a  dream, 
Now  are  frolic  ;  not  a  mouse 
Shall  disturb  this  hallowed  house  : 
I  am  sent  with  broom  before, 
To  sweep  the  dust  behind  the  door. 

Now  that  the  place  is  in  fit  order  for  the  Fairy  Queen,  she  enters  with  Oberon 
and  all  their  train.    Oberon  gives  them  directions,  bidding  them  dance  and  sing  :  — 

Through  the  house  give  glimmering  light, 

By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire  ; 
Every  elf,  and  fairy  sprite, 

Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  brier  ; 
And  this  ditty  after  me 
Sing,  and  dance  it  trippingly. 
Titania.    First,  rehearse  your  song  by  rote, 
To  each  word  a  warbling  note  : 
Hand  in  hand  with  fairy  grace 
Will  we  sing,  and  bless  this  place. 

After  the  fairy  dance  and  song,  Oberon  sends  the  elves  and  fays  to  bless  the 
palace  of  Theseus.  They  are  to  touch  each  chamber  and  each  bed  with  the  con- 
secrated field-dew,  so  that  every  one  in  the  household  may  be  happy,  and  all 
their  children  fair  and  wise  and  good. 

No  one  knows  what  the  fairy  song  was,  for  it  has  been  lost ;  but  this  was  a  part 
of  Qberon 's  instruction  to  the  fairies  :  — 

Now,  until  the  break  of  day, 
Through  this  house  each  fairy  stray, 
And  each  several  chamber  bless, 
Through  this  palace  with  sweet  peace  ; 
And  the  owner  of  it,  blest, 
Ever  shall  in  safety  rest. 
Trip  away  ;  make  no  stay  ; 
Meet  me  all  by  break  of  day. 

The  fairies  danced  gayly  away  to  do  their  master's  bidding,  while  Oberon  and 
Titania,  hand  in  hand,  went  upon  their  own  special  errand,  to  bless  the  chamber 
of  Theseus  and  Hippolyta,  leaving  Puck  quite  alone. 

a  Triple,  Hecate's  team  —  that  is,  the  chariot  of  the  moon,  or  Diana.  Hecate  was  a 
heathen  divinity,  called  Luna  in  heaven,  Diana  on  earth,  and  Hecate,  or  Proserpine,  in  hell. 
Hence  her  name  of  "  the  triple  goddess,"  and  she  is  sometimes  represented  with  three  bodies. 
She  was  supposed  to  preside  over  magic  and  enchantments,  and  appears  in  "  Macbeth  "  as  the 
queen  of  the  witches. 


A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


69 


Mischievous  Puck  now  comes  forward,  and,  by  way  of  offering  excuse  for  all  the 
queer  actions  and  entanglements  of  lovers  and  fairies  and  clowns  and  dukes  and 
queens,  makes  this  little  farewell  speech ;  in  which  (you  will  readily  understand) 
all  his  talk  about  "  'scaping  the  serpent's  tongue,"  and  asking  for  the  "  hands  " 
of  his  audience,  means  merely  that  he  hopes  they  will  not  hiss,  but  rather  clap  and 
applaud  the  actors  :  — 

If  we  shadows  have  offended, 

Think  but  this,  and  all  is  mended, 

That  you  have  but  slumbered  here, 

While  these  visions  did  appear  ; 

And  this  weak  and  idle  theme, 

No  more  yielding  but  a  dream, 

Gentles,  do  not  reprehend  : 

If  you  pardon,  we  will  mend. 

And,  as  I'm  an  honest  Puck, 

If  we  have  unearned  luck 

Now  to  'scape  the  serpent's  tongue 

We  will  make  amends  ere  long  ; 

Else  the  Puck  a  liar  call: 

So,  good  night  unto  you  all. 

Give  me  your  hands,  if  we  be  friends, 

And  Robin  shall  restore  amends. 


ROBIN    GOODFELLOW. 


ATTRIBUTED  TO  BEN  JONSON. 

ROM  Oberon  in  fairy  land, 

The  king  of  ghosts  and  shadows  there, 
Mad  Robin  I,  at  his  command, 

Am  sent  to  view  the  night-sports  here. 
What  revel  rout 
Is  kept  about, 
In  every  corner  where  I  go, 
I  will  o'er  see, 
And  merry  be, 
And  make  good  sport,  with  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

More  swift  than  lightning  can  I  fly 

About  this  airy  welkin  soon, 
And,  in  a  minute's  space,  descry 

Each  thing  that 's  done  below  the  moon. 
There's  not  a  hag 
Or  ghost  shall  wag, 


4  ■/  W) 


72 


SHAKESPEARE    FOR    THE    YOUNG    FOLK. 

Or  cry,  'ware  goblins  !  where  I  go  ; 

But  Robin  I 

Their  feats  will  spy, 
And  send  them  home  with  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

Whene'er  such  wanderers  I  meet, 
As  from  their  night  sports  they  trudge  home, 

With  counterfeiting  voice  I  greetj 
And  call  them  on  with  me  to  roam 


Through  woods,  through  lakes  ; 

Through  bogs,  through  brakes  ; 
Or  else,  unseen,  with  them  I  go, 

All  in  the  nick 

To  play  some  trick 
And  frolic  it,  with  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

Sometimes  I  meet  them  like  a  man, 

Sometimes  an  ox,  sometimes  a  hound; 
And  to  a  horse  I  turn  me  can, 

To  trip  and  trot  about  them  round. 
But  if  to  ride 
My  back  they  stride, 


THE    PRANKS    OF    ROBIN    GOODFELLOW. 


73 


More  swift  than  wind  away  I  go  ; 
O'er  hedge  and  lands, 
Through  pools  and  ponds, 

I  hurry,  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

When  lads  and  lasses  merry  be, 

With  possets  and  with  junkets  fine  ; 
Unseen  of  all  the  company, 

I  eat  their  cakes  and  sip  their  wine ! 

And,  to  make  sport, 

I  puff  and  snort, 
And  out  the  candles  I  do  blow: 

The  maids  I  kiss, 

They  shriek  — who  \s  this  ? 
I  answer  nought  but  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

And  now  and  then,  the  maids  to  please, 

At  midnight  I  card  up  their  wool ; 
And  while  they  sleep  and  take  their  ease, 
With  wheel  to  threads  their  flax  I  pull. 

I  grind  at  mill 

Their  malt  up  still  ; 
I  dress  their  hemp  ;  I  spin  their  tow  ; 

If  any  wake 

And  would  me  take, 
I  wend  me  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

When  any  need  to  borrow  aught, 

We  lend  them  what  they  do  require  : 
And  for  the  use  demand  we  nought  ; 
Our  own  is  all  we  do  desire. 

If  to  repay 

They  do  delay, 
Abroad  amongst  them  then  I  go, 

And  night  by  night 

I  them  affright, 
With  pinchings,  dreams,  and  ho,  ho,  ho ! 


74 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

When  lazy  queans  have  nought  to  do, 

Rut  study  how  to  cog  and  lie  ; 
To  make  debate  and  mischief  too 
'Twixt  one  another  secretly  : 

I  mark  their  gloze 

And  it  disclose 
To  them  whom  they  have  wronged  so : 

When  I  have  done, 

I  get  me  gone, 
And  leave  them  scolding,  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

When  men  do  traps  and  engines  set 

In  loopholes,  where  the  vermin  creep, 
Who  from  their  folds  and  houses  get 

Their  ducks  and  geese  and  lambs  and  sheep, 

I  spy  the  gin, 

And  enter  in, 
And  seem  a  vermin  taken  so  ; 

But  when  they  there 

Approach  me  near, 
I  leap  out  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

By  wells  and  rills,  in  meadows  green, 
We  nightly  dance  our  heyday  guise  ; 

And  to  our  fairy  king  and  queen 

We  chant  our  moonlight  minstrelsies. 


When  larks  'gin  sing, 

Away  we  fling  ; 
And  babes  new-born  steal  as  we  go 

And  elf  in  bed 

We  leave  instead, 
And  wend  us  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho! 


THE    FRANKS    OF    ROBIN    GOODFELLOW. 


75 


From  hag-bred  Merlin's  time  have  I 
Thus  nightly  revelled  to  and  fro  ; 
And  for  my  pranks  men  call  me  by 
The  name  of  Robin  Goodfellow. 
Fiends,  ghosts  and  sprites, 
Who  haunt  the  nights, 
The  hags  and  goblins  do  me  know : 
And  beldames  old 
My  feats  have  told, 
So  vale,1  vale  ;  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 


1  Farewell. 


AS     YOU    LIKE    IT. 


INTRODUCTION. 


HAKESPEARE  had  been  in  London  about  fourteen 


years.  During  that  time  he  had  done  a  prodigious 
amount  of  work.  Besides  several  exquisite  poems, 
which  had  brought  him  great  credit  and  made  him 
intimate  with  the  noble  society  of  the  capital,  he  had 
produced  some  seventeen  or  eighteen  tragedies  and 
comedies  —  all,  either  wholly- or  in  part,  the  work  of  his  own  hand.  It 
was  in  the  year  1600  —  the  beginning  of  a  new  century  —  and  he 
was  thirty-six  years  old,  when  there  came  from  his  pen  what  has 
been  truly  styled  "  the  very  sweetest  and  happiest  of  all  his  comedies." 
It  was  called  "As  You  Like  It,"  for  reasons  which  you  will  understand 
when  you  have  read  it,  —  as  you  will  now  have  an  opportunity  to  do. 

The  author  had  been  writing  a  number  of  plays  founded  on  English 
history,  and  his  mind  had  been  crowded  with  mighty  themes,  —  of  kings 
and  courts  and  camps,  —  and  we  may  well  believe  that  it  was  strained 
and  weary.  So,  by  way  of  recreation  perhaps,  he  painted  this  lovely 
picture  of  life  in  the  woods.  For  it  would  almost  seem  that,  in  writing 
it,  Shakespeare  himself  had  escaped  from  his  cares  into  the  forest  of 
Arden,  and  there,  stretched  out  "  under  the  greenwood  tree,"  was  join- 
ing in  the  merry  strains  of  his  own  princely  foresters, — 

"  Who  doth  ambition  shun, 

And  loves  to  live  in  the  sun, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither." 


8o 


INTRODUCTION. 


And  there  is  not  one  of  us  that  would  not  be  glad  to  accept  the  invi- 
tation, —  nay,  who  does  not  feel,  as  he  reads,  that  he  has  already  accepted 
it,  and  is  chasing  the  wild  deer,  or  roaming  the  shady  forest,  with  the 
sunlight  darting  through  the  boughs,  the  breeze  bathing  his  forehead, 
and  the  stream  murmuring  in  his  ears. 


OLD   ADAM   AND   ORLANDO. 


AS  YOU   LIKE   IT. 


I. 

Act  I.    Scene  i. 

i^£&f\j3  ")/4°ONG  ago  there  lived  in  France  a  noble  gentleman,  named 
Sir  Rowland  de  Bois,  who  had  three  sons,  Oliver,  Jaques, 
and  Orlando.  This  nobleman  had  a  large  fortune  in  lands 
and  houses  and  other  property.  He  made  a  will  before  he 
died,  by  which,  as  was  the  custom  in  those  days,  he  left  his 
lands  and  the  larger  part  of  his  money  to  his  eldest  son, 
Oliver. 

Sir  Rowland  did  not  mean,  however,  to  be  unjust  to  Jaques  and  Orlando  ; 
for,  besides  his  blessing  and  a  thousand  crowns  which  he  left  to  Orlando,  he 
charged  Oliver  to  see  that  both  his  brothers  were  educated  as  was  befitting 
gentlemen  of  their  high  birth. 


82  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Oliver  gave  little  heed  to  his  father's  wish,  so  far  as  Orlando  was  concerned. 
Jaques  he  sent  to  school,  whence  came  golden  reports  of  his  talent  and  industry, 
while  poor  Orlando  (being  the  youngest,  and  the  least  able  to  resent  the  injustice) 
was  kept  at  home  in  idleness,  and  as  far  as  possible  in  ignorance.  Oliver  never 
showed  any  affection  for  Orlando  :  he  made  him  eat  with  the  servants,  dressed 
him  shabbily,  and  in  every  way  kept  him  from  the  education  and  position  to  which, 
as  the  son  of  a  gentleman  of  rank  and  wealth,  he  was  entitled. 

It  is  difficult  to  understand  why  Oliver  should  have  treated  his  own  brother  so 
badly,  unless  it  was  because  he  was  envious  of  Orlando's  good  qualities,  and  the 
affection  he  had  won  from  all  who  knew  him.  It  was  hard  for  Oliver  to  find  a 
reason  in  his  own  heart  for  hating  Orlando  as  he  did,  for  he  says  :  "  My  soul,  I 
know  not  why,  hates  nothing  more  than  him.  Yet  he  's  gentle  •  never  schooled, 
and  yet  learned ;  noble,  beloved  by  every  one,  and  most  of  all  by  those  who  know 
him  best." 

Knowing  that  Orlando  was  a  fine  strong  fellow,  and  very  fond  of  wrestling,  this 
wicked  brother  determined  to  persuade  him  into  a  wrestling-match  with  a  cele- 
brated prize-fighter,  named  Charles,  in  the  employment  of  the  duke  of  that  coun- 
try ;  not  doubting  that  this  burly  champion  could  be  induced  to  hurt  him  badly, 
or  even  to  kill  him. 

There  was  one,  however,  in  Oliver's  household  who  loved  Orlando  dearly. 
This  was  an  old  servant  of  his  father's,  named  Adam,a  who  had  lived  in  the  family 
for  more  than  sixty  years.  Orlando  could  always  go  to  him  when  discouraged 
and  unhappy,  sure  that  Adam  would  comfort  him  and  make  things  brighter  and 
cheerier,  if  only  by  his  kindly  sympathy  and  warm  love. 

One  day,  Orlando  felt  more  unhappy  than  usual,  and,  finding  Adam  in  the 
orchard,  he  again  repeated  the  story  of  his  wrongs,  and  his  determination  to  break 
away  from  his  wretched  life.-  Just  then,  seeing  Oliver  approaching  the  place 
where  they  stood,  Orlando  bade  Adam  go  away  a  short  distance  and  listen,  so  as 
to  learn  for  himself  how  harsh  and  unkind  a  brother  could  be. 

Oliver,  richly  dressed  in  the  fashion  of  the  day,  came  into  the  orchard,  and  in 
an  extremely  rude  and  disagreeable  manner  addressed  Orlando,  whose  clothes 
were  those  of  a  peasant,  saying,  ■ — ■ 

"  Now,  sir,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 


a  This  beautiful  character  is  rendered  doubly  interesting  to  us  by  a  curious  tradition  that 
Shakespeare  himself  played  it  upon  the  stage.  The  poet  had  a  brother  Gilbert,  who  sur- 
vived him  more  than  forty  years,  and  who,  when  a  very  infirm  old  man,  with  faculties  few  and 
feeble,  being  asked  if  he  had  ever  seen  his  brother  play,  answered  that  he  remembered 
him  in  one  of  his  own  comedies,  "  wherein,  being  to  personate  a  decrepit  old  man,  he  wore 
a  long  beard,  and  appeared  so  weak  and  drooping  that  he  was  forced  to  be  carried  by 
another  person  to  a  table,  at  which  he  was  seated  among  some  company  who  were  eating, 
and  one  of  them  sung  a  song."  This  could  have  been  none  other  than  the  good  old  Adam. 
(See  p.  in.) 


Orlando's  victory  over  charles,  the  duke's   wrestler. 


84  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Orlando ;  "  I  am  not  taught  to  do  anything,  but  am  left 
to  spoil  with  idleness." 

"  Well  then,  be  better  employed,  confound  you  !  "  retorted  the  elder  brother. 

"  What  shall  I  do?  Feed  your  hogs,  and  eat  husks  with  them?  I  believe  I 
have  n't  spent  the  prodigal  son's  portion  yet,  that  I  should  be  brought  so  low  as 
that." 

"  Know  you  where  you  are,  .sir?  " 

"  O,  sirj  very  well :  here,  in  your  orchard." 

"  Know  you  before  whom,  sir?  " 

"  Ay,  better  than  he  I  am  before  knows  me.  I  know  you  are  my  elder  brother, 
but  you  should  also  know  me  as  being  of  the  same  blood  as  yourself.  I  have  as 
much  of  our  father  in  me  as  you ;  though  I  confess  your  coming  before  me  has 
brought  you  nearer  to  his  estate." 

This  taunt  stung  Oliver  to  the  quick,  and  calling  his  brother  "  boy "  and 
"villain,"  he  rushed  forward  as  if  about  to  strike  him.  But  in  this  he  made  a 
great  mistake,  for  Orlando  was  much  the  stronger  of  the  two,  and  he  seized  Oliver 
by  the  throat,  and  was  about  to  give  him  a  hearty  shaking,  when  the  old  ser- 
vant interfered,  saying,  — 

Sweet  masters,  be  patient :  for  your  father's  remembrance,  be  at  accord. 

Oliver.    Let  me  go,  I  say. 

Orlando.  I  will  not,  till  I  please  :  you  shall  hear  me.  My  father  charged  you  in 
his  will  to  give  me  good  education  :  you  have  trained  me  like  a  peasant,  obscuring  and 
hiding  from  me  all  gentleman-like  qualities  :  the  spirit  of  my  father  grows  strong  in  me, 
and  I  will  no  longer  endure  it :  therefore,  allow  me  such  exercises  as  may  become  a 
gentleman,  or  give  me  the  poor  [portion]  my  father  left  me  by  testament  :  with  that  I 
will  go  buy  my  fortunes. 

Oliver.  And  what  wilt  thou  do  ?  Beg,  when  that  is  spent  ?  Well,  sir,  get  you  in  : 
I  will  not  long  be  troubled  with  you  ;  you  shall  have  some  part  of  your  will.  I  pray 
you,  leave  me. 

Orlando.    I  will  no  further  offend  you  than  becomes  me  for  my  good. 

Oliver.    Get  you  with  him,  you  old  dog. 

Adam.  Is  "old  dog"  my  reward  ?  Most  true,  I  have  lost  my  teeth  in  your  ser- 
vice. —  God  be  with  my  old  master!  he  would  not  have  spoke  such  a  word. 

As  Orlando  and  Adam  went  away,  Oliver  said  half  aloud:  "Is  it  even  so? 
begin  you  to  grow  upon  me  ?  I  will  take  you  down,  my  fine  fellow,  and  yet  give 
no  thousand  crowns  either." 

Then  he  called  to  one  of  his  servants  and  bade  him  find  Charles,  the  Duke's 
wrestler.  Charles  was  even  then  at  the  door,  on  an  errand  of  his  own,  and  entered 
without  delay.  Oliver  asked  for  the  news  ;  but  Charles  had  only  old  news  to  tell, 
part  of  which  Oliver  probably  already  knew. 

"  You  see,  sir,"  said  Charles,  "  it  is  old  news  that  the  new  duke  has  banished 
his  elder  brother,  the  old  duke  ;  three  or  four  loving  lords  have  gone  into  exile  with 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  85 

the  old  duke,  while  the  new  duke  has  seized  their  lands  and  revenue :  so  he  is 
quite  content  to  have  them  stay  away." 

"  Is  Rosalind,  the  duke's  daughter,  banished  with  her  father?  " 

"  O,  no,  for  the  new  duke's  daughter,  her  cousin,  loves  her  so  much  she  would 
die  without  her.  She  is  at  the  court.  They  say  her  father  is  in  the  Forest  of 
Arden,a  and  many  merry  men  with  him.  There  they  live  like  the  old  Robin 
Hood  b  of  England,  and  pass  the  time  carelessly  as  they  did  in  the  golden  world 
of  long  ago." 

"  Do  you  wrestle  to-morrow  before  the  new  duke?  " 

"  Marry,  I  do,  sir ;  and  I  came  to  acquaint  you  with  a  matter.  I  have  heard 
that  your  younger  brother,  Orlando,  means  to  try  a  fall  with  me.  I  should  be 
sorry  to  hurt  him,  for  he  is  but  young  and  tender ;  but  to-morrow  I  wrestle  for  my 
credit,  and  he  who  escapes  from  me  with  a  broken  limb  will  be  happy.  I  beg 
you  to  keep  him  from  his  purpose  ;  if  not,  the  harm  and  disgrace  are  his  doing,  not 
any  will  of  mine." 

"  Charles,"  replied  Orlando,  "  I  thank  thee  for  thy  love,  and  will  reward  it.  I 
knew  of  my  brother's  purpose,  and  have  quietly  tried  to  dissuade  him  from  it,  but 
he  is  the  stubbornest  young  fellow  in  France.  Use  thy  discretion.  I  had  as 
lief  thou  didst  break  his  neck  as  his  finger.  But  this  I  will  tell  thee  by  way  of 
warning  :  if  thou  hurtest  him  only  slightly,  he  will  try  to  do  thee  some  secret  harm 
by  poison  or  treachery,  for  —  almost  with  tears  I  speak  it  —  there  is  not  one  so 
young  and  so  villainous  this  day  living.  This  I  tell  thee  of  my  own  brother,  with 
sorrow  and  shame." 

Charles  thanked  the  wicked  brother  for  the  advice  which  seemed  so  kindly 
meant,  and  went  away,  promising  to  pay  Orlando  well  on  the  morrow  for  his  evil 
intentions.  Oliver  had  accomplished  one  part  of  his  purpose  in  stirring  up 
Charles.  His  hatred  for  Orlando  seemed  to  grow  stronger  with  every  thought  of 
him  and  his  charming  ways,  and  of  the  love  he  won  from  all  sorts  of  people.  "  I 
hope  soon  to  see  an  end  of  him,"  he  said.  "  This 'wrestler  shall  clear  all :  nothing 
remains  but  to  kindle  Orlando  into  an  angry  feeling  against  Charles  ;  which  now 
I  '11  go  about." 

1  This  was  the  forest  of  Ardennes,  in  French  Flanders,  lying  near  the  river  Meuse,  and 
between  Charlemont  and  Rocroy. 

b  Robin  Hood,  the  noble  outlaw,  is  generally  known  to  young  readers.  He  lived  in  Sher- 
wood Forest,  Nottinghamshire,  in  the  time  of  Richard  I.  Something  about  him  and  his  modes 
of  life  can  be  found  in  the  old  Percv  Ballads,  and  in  Walter  Scott's  novel,  Ivanhce. 


II. 


Act  I.     Scene  2. 

;  HILE  such  hard  thoughts  and  wicked  purposes  were  filling 
the  heart  of  one  brother  against  another,  a  happier  scene 
was  passing  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  Duke's  palace. 

Rosalind,  the  daughter  of  the  banished  Duke,  and  Celia, 
her  cousin,  —  who  seemed  to  love  each  other  more  with 
each  new  day, — were  strolling  through  the  pleasure-grounds 
around  the  palace.  Rosalind  appeared  less  cheerful  than 
usual,  and  Celia,  who  could  not  bear  to  see  a  shadow  on  the  face  of  one  she  loved 
so  dearly,  said,  — 

"  I  pray  thee,  Rosalind,  my  sweet  coz,  be  merry  !  " 

"  Dear  Celia,  I  seem  merrier  than  I  really  am,  even  now.  Can  I  forget  my 
banished  father?  " 

"  But,  Rosalind,  if  thou  lovedst  me  as  much  as  I  love  thee,  thou  wouldst  take 
my  father  for  thine.     I  know  I  would  take  thy  father,  if  mine  were  banished." 
"  Well,  cousin,  I  will  forget  the  condition  of  my  estate  to  rejoice  in  yours." 
"  When  my  father  dies,  I  will  give  back  to  thee  all  he  has  taken  away  from  thy 
father.     Therefore,  sweet  Rose,  dear  Rose,  be  merry." 

"  From  henceforth  I  will,  coz,"  gayly  answered  Rosalind,  "  and  what  is  more, 
I  will  invent  merry  sports.  What  think  you  of  falling  in  love  ?  Would  not  that  be 
amusing?  " 

"  Marry,  I  pr'ythee,  do,  to  make  sport :  but  love  no  man  in  good  earnest !  " 
The  two  young  princesses  laughed  merrily  at  the  bare  thought  of  either  of 
them  falling  in  love  "  in  good  earnest,"  little  dreaming  how  soon  both  would  try 
seriously  the  experiment  which  they  had  suggested  in  sport. 

In  the  midst  of  their  jesting  and  light-hearted  laughter,  Touchstone,  the  court 
fool,  entered,  apparently  looking  for  them.  In  those  days  sovereigns  and  nobles 
kept  so-called  fools  or  jesters,  to  amuse  the  household  with  nonsense  and  wit. 
They  were  allowed  to  say  and  do  almost  anything  they  chose,  although,  if  they 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 


87 


went  too  far  in  their  joking,  they  might  be  punished  or  dismissed.  The  fool's 
dress  was  a  fantastic  affair ;  that  of  the  clown  in  a  modern  circus  will  give  you  a 
pretty  good  idea  of  it.  A  cap,  orna- 
mented with  a  cock's  comb  and  asses' 
ears ;  a  wide  collar ;  bells  hung  on 
the  cap  and  clothing ;  and  "  mot- 
ley "  colors,  —  one  leg  or  arm  of  one 
color,  one  of  another  color,  and  so 
on,  —  were  among  the  means  by 
which  the  fool  provoked  laughter. 
He  also  carried  a  mock  sceptre,  or 
"  bauble." 

There  was  a  great  variety  in  court 
fools.  Some  of  them  were  misshapen 
dwarfs,  and  half  crazy ;  others  were 
men  who  concealed  much  wit  and 
wisdom  under  the  pretence  of  folly. 
Touchstone  was  of  the  latter  kind. 
With  all  his  solemn  absurdities,  he 
managed  to  utter  a  great  deal  of  good 
sense. 

When  the  ladies  saw  him  coming,  Celia  called  to  him,  — 

How  now,  wit  ?     Whither  wander  you  ? 

Touchstone.    Mistress,  you  must  come  away  to  your  father. 

Celia.    Were  you  made  the  messenger  ? 

Touchstone.    No,  by  mine  honor  ;  but  I  was  bid  to  come  for  you. 

Rosalind.    Where  learned  you  that  oath,  fool  ? 

Touchstone.  Of  a  certain  knight,  that  swore  by  his  honor  they  were  good  pan- 
cakes, and  swore  by  his  honor  the  mustard  was  naught:  1  now,  I'll  stand  to  it,  the 
pancakes  were  naught,  and  the  mustard  was  good,  and  yet  was  not  the  knight 
forsworn. 

Celia.    How  prove  you  that,  in  the  great  heap  of  your  knowledge  ? 

Rosalind.    Ay,  marry:  now  unmuzzle  your  wisdom. 

Touchstone.  Stand  you  both  forth  now ;  stroke  your  chins,  and  swear  by  your 
beards  that  I  am  a  knave. 

So  the  princesses  stand  up  and  merrily  stroke  their  smooth  faces  with  their 
hands  ;  and  Celia  says, — 

By  our  beards,  if  we  had  them,  thou  art. 

Touchstone.  By  my  knavery,  if  I  had  it,  then  I  were  ;  but  if  you  swear  by  that 
that  is  not,  you  are  not  forsworn  :   no  more  was  this  knight,  swearing  by  his  honor,  for 


1  Bad. 


88  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

he  never  had  any  ;  or  if  he  had,  he  had  sworn  it  away  before  ever  he  saw  those  pan- 
cakes, or  that  mustard. 

Celia.  You  '11  be  whipped  for  [criticising]  one  of  these  days.a  But  here  comes 
Monsieur  Le  Beau. 

Monsieur  Le  Beau  was  a  gentleman  of  the  court,  who  entered  at  this  moment, 
much  excited. 

"Fair  ladies,"  he  exclaimed,  "here  has  been  some  good  sport  in  wrestling 
that  you  have  lost  sight  of." 

"Yet  tell  us  the  manner  of  it,"  Rosalind  replied. 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  beginning ;  and,  if  it  please  your  ladyship,  you  may  see  the 
end,  for  the  best  is  yet  to  do  ;  and  here,  where  you  are,  they  are  coming  to  per- 
form it." 

"Well,  tell  us  the  beginning." 

Le  Beau.  There  comes  an  old  man  and  his  three  sons.  The  eldest  of  the  three 
wrestled  with  Charles,  the  Duke's  wrestler ;  which  Charles  in  a  moment  threw  him, 
and  broke  three  of  his  ribs,  that  there  is  little  hope  of  life  in  him:  so  he  served  the 
second,  and  so  the  third.  Yonder  they  lie,  the  poor  old  man,  their  father,  making  such 
pitiful  dole  over  them,  that  all  the  beholders  take  his  part  with  weeping. 

Rosalind.    Alas  ! 

Touchstone.    But  what  is  the  sport,  monsieur,  that  the  ladies  have  lost  ? 

Le  Beau.    Why,  this  that  I  speak  of. 

Touchstone.  Thus  men  may  grow  wiser  every  day  !  It  is  the  first  time  that  ever 
I  heard  breaking  of  ribs  was  sport  for  ladies  ! 

Rosalind.    Shall  we  see  this  wrestling,  cousin  ? 

Le  Beau.  You  must,  if  you  stay  here  ;  for  here  is  the  place  appointed  for  the 
wrestling,  and  they  are  ready  to  perform  it. 

Celia.    Yonder,  sure,  they  are  coming  :  let  us  now  stay  and  see  it. 

With  a  great  nourish  of  trumpets,  Duke  Frederick  and  his  lords  entered  the 
open  courtyard  :  with  them  also  came  Orlando,  and  Charles,  the  court  wrestler, 
by  the  side  of  whose  giant  frame  Orlando  looked  even  younger  and  more  slender 
than  before. 

While  the  attendants  arranged  a  place  for  the  wrestlers,  and  Orlando  made 
ready  for  the  contest  by  laying  aside  his  doublet  (or  outer  coat),  Celia  and  Rosa- 
lind, who  had  come  near  to  see  the  sport,  felt  their  hearts  moved  with  pity  to  think 
that  one  so  young  in  years  and  so  gentle  in  bearing  as  Orlando  should  wrestle  with 
such  a  man  as  Charles.  Even  Duke  Frederick  said  he  wished  that  the  men  were 
more  equally  matched,  and  endeavored  to  dissuade  Orlando  from  his  purpose ; 
but  the  youngster  would  not  yield.  Then  the  Duke  called  Celia  and  Rosalind  to 
try,  saying,  "  Speak  to  him,  ladies  ;  see  if  you  can  move  him." 

a  Although  a  very  large  liberty  was  given  to  the  "allowed  fools,"  nevertheless  they  were 
sometimes  whipped  for  using  their  tongues  too  freely. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  89 

"  Call  him  hither,  good  MonsieuV  Le  Beau,"  said  Celia. 

"  Do  so,"  said  the  Duke  ;  "  I  will  step  aside." 

Le  Beau  having  told  Orlando  that  the  princesses  wished  to  speak  with  him, 
that  young  gentleman  gallantly  and  courteously  drew  near,  not  at  all  displeased  to 
find  two  lovely  young  ladies  taking  an  interest  in  his  welfare. 

"Young  man,"  said  Rosalind,  "have  you  challenged  Charles  the  wrestler?" 

Orlando.  No,  fair  princess  ;  he  is  the  general  challenger  :  I  come  but  in,  as  others 
do,  to  try  with  him  the  strength  of  my  youth. 

Celia.  Young  gentleman,  your  spirits  are  too  bold  for  your  years.  You  have  seen 
cruel  proof  of  this  man's  strength.  We  pray  you,  for  your  own  sake,  to  embrace  your 
own  safety,  and  give  over  this  attempt. 

Rosalind.  Do,  young  sir:  your  reputation  shall  not  therefore  [suffer].  We  will 
make  it  our  suit  to  the  Duke,  that  the  wrestling  may  not  go  forward. 

Orlando.  I  beseech  you,  punish  me  not  with  your  hard  thoughts.  I  confess  me 
much  guilty,  to  deny  so  fair  and  excellent  ladies  anything.  But  let  your  fair  eyes,  and 
gentle  wishes,  go  with  me  to  my  trial  :  wherein  if  I  be  [conquered],  there  is  but  one 
shamed  that  was  never  [in  favor] ;  if  killed,  but  one  dead  that  is  willing  to  be  so.  I 
shall  do  my  friends  no  wrong,  for  I  have  none  to  lament  me  ;  the  world  no  injury,  for 
in  it  I  have  nothing ;  only  in  the  world  I  fill  up  a  place,  which  may  be  better  supplied 
when  I  have  made  it  empty. 

Rosalind.    The  little  strength  that  I  have,  I  would  it  were  with  you. 

Celia.    And  mine,  to  eke  out  hers. 

Rosalind.    Fare  you  well.     Pray  Heaven  I  be  deceived  in  you  ! 

Celia.   Your  heart's  desires  be  with  you  ! 

Charles.  Come  ;  where  is  this  young  gallant,  that  is  so  desirous  to  lie  with  his 
mother  earth  ? 

Orlando.    Ready,  sir  ;  but  his  will  hath  in  it  a  more  modest  working. 

Duke  Frederick.   You  shall  try  but  one  fall. 

Charles.  No,  I  warrant  your  Grace,  you  shall  not  entreat  him  to  a  second,  that 
have  so  mightily  persuaded  him  from  a  first. 

Orlando.  If  you  mean  to  mock  me  after,  you  should  not  have  mocked  me  before  ; 
but  come  [on]. 

And  now  the  wrestling  began.  The  young  princesses  looked  on  with  the 
deepest  interest ;  especially  Rosalind,  who  from  the  first  felt  drawn  to  the  hand- 
some youth,  the  more  because  he  was  unfortunate  and  alone  in  the  world,  like 
herself;  and  she  pitied  him  so  very  much  that  it  may  almost  be  said  she  was  in 
love  with  him  already.  As  for  Orlando,  the  kindness  shown  to  him  by  these  noble 
ladies  seemed  to  increase  his  courage  and  strength,  and  with  one  mighty  effort  he 
lifted  the  big  champion  in  his  arms  and  threw  him,  stunned  and  apparently  lifeless, 
to  the  ground.  The  attendants  came  and  bore  the  helpless  wrestler  away ;  and  the 
Duke,  turning  to  the  flushed  and  panting  young  victor,  said,  — 

What  is  thy  name,  young  man  ? 

Orlando.    Orlando,  my  liege  :  the  youngest  son  of  Sir  Rowland  de  Bois. 


90  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Duke  Frederick.    I  would  thou  hadst  been  son  to  some  man  else. 
The  world  esteemed  thy  father  honorable, 
But  I  did  find  him  still  mine  enemy : 
Thou  wouldst  have  better  pleased  me  with  this  deed, 
Hadst  thou  descended  from  another  house.1 
But  fare  thee  well ;  thou  art  a  gallant  youth  ; 
I  would  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father. 

Duke  Frederick's  heart  was  divided  between  admiration  for  the  bravery  and 
gallantry  of  Orlando  and  dislike  for  Sir  Rowland  de  Bois,  Orlando's  father.  He 
felt  hardly  comfortable  in  the  presence  of  one  who,  while  deserving  of  praise,  was 
yet  a  source  of  annoyance  simply  because  of  his  parentage.  So  he  turned  and 
departed  from  the  courtyard  with  his  train,  leaving  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Orlando 
together. 

Orlando,  with  great  dignity,  called  after  the  retiring  Duke,  "  I  am  more  proud 
to  be  Sir  Rowland's  son,  his  youngest  son,  than  if  I  were  adopted  heir  to  Fred- 
erick." 

Celia  was  indignant  at  her  father's  cool  words,  and,  turning  to  Rosalind,  said 
in  a  regretful  way,  "  Were  I  my  father,  coz,  would  I  do  this?  " 
.   Rosalind  eagerly  declared,  — 

My  father  loved  Sir  Rowland  as  his  soul, 
And  all  the  world  was  of  my  father's  mind. 
Had  I  before  known  this  young  man  his  son, 
I  would  have  given  him  tears  unto  entreaties, 
Ere  he  should  thus  have  ventured. 

Celia.  Gentle  cousin, 

Let  us  go  thank  him,  and  encourage  him  : 
My  father's  rough  and  [hateful]  disposition 
Sticks  me  at  heart—  [To  Orlando']  Sir,  you  have  well  deserved. 

Then  Rosalind,  taking  a  heavy  gold  chain  from  her  neck,  put  it  about  Orlando's 

neck  with  these  words  :  — 

Gentleman, 

Wear  this  for  me,  one  out  of  suits  2  with  fortune, 

That  could  give  more,  but  that  her  hand  lacks  means.  — 

Shall  we  go,  coz  ? 

Celia.    Ay.  —  Fare  you  well,  fair  gentleman. 

Orlando  [with  eyes  cast  down  and  speaking  to  himself].    Can  I  not  say,  I  thank 
you  ?     My  better  parts 
Are  all  thrown  down,  and  that  which  here  stands  up 
Is  but  a  lifeless  block. 

Rosalind  [to  Celia].    He  calls  us  back.a     My  pride  fell  with  my  fortunes  — 

1  Family.  '2  Out  of  favor. 

a  Orlando  had  not  called  them  back:  Rosalind  was  deceived  by  her  own  fancy,  and  by  her 
desire  to  talk  with  Orlando  more. 


AS   YOU   LIKE    IT. 


9I 


I  '11  ask  him  what  he  [wants].  —  Did  you  call,  sir  ?  — 
Sir,  you  have  wrestled  well,  and  overthrown 
More  than  your  enemies. 

Celia.  Will  you  go,  coz  ? 

Rosalind.    [I  'm  coming.]  —  Fare  you  well. 

The  two  young  ladies  departed,  but  Rosalind  cast  many  a  lingering  look  back- 
ward to  where  Orlando  stood,  like  one  almost  stupefied. 

At  last,  when  they  were  quite  gone,  he  seemed  to  rouse  himself,  and  slowly 


g2  SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 

said  :  "  What  is  it  that  hangs  these  weights  upon  my  tongue  ?  I  cannot  speak  to 
her,  yet  she  urged  me  to  speak.  O  poor  Orlando  !  thou  art  overthrown ;  either 
Charles  or  something  weaker  masters  thee  !  " 

I  think  you  and  I  can  guess  what  was  the  matter  with  both  Rosalind  and 
Orlando. 

At  this  point  Le  Beau,  who  was  evidently  a  kindly  person,  came  hastily  in, 
and  urged  Orlando  to  leave  the  place  with  speed ;  because,  in  spite  of  all  that  he 
had  done  deserving  praise,  the  Duke  was  of  a  temper  so  moody  and  uncertain  that 
he  would  be  sure  to  seek  some  cause  for  blame. 

Orlando  thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  and  begged  to  know  which  of  the  two 
lovely  young  ladies  who  watched  the  wrestling  was  the  daughter  of  the  Duke. 

Le  Beau  answered  :  "  You  would  not  think  either  of  them  could  be  the  Duke's 
daughter,  to  judge  by  their  manners  ;  but  the  shorter  of  the  two,  Celia,  is  really 
his  daughter.  The  other  is  her  cousin  Rosalind,  daughter  of  the  banished  Duke, 
and  much  beloved  for  her  many  virtues,  wherein  she  resembles  her  father."  But 
these  very  virtues  (he  added),  together  with  the  pity  the  people  felt  for  her,  had 
excited  the  Duke's  displeasure,  and  sooner  or  later  it  would  break  forth  on  her. 

Orlando  again  thanked  Le  Beau,  bade  him  farewell,  and,  with  his  heart  full  of 
happy  thoughts  about  Rosalind,  went  from  the  abode  of  the  tyrant  Duke  toward 
that  of  a  tyrant  brother. 


III. 


Act  I.     Scene  3. 

>HE  two  cousins,  Celia  and  Rosalind,  had  lived  together  in 
Duke  Frederick's  palace  ever  since  the  banishment  of 
Rosalind's  father.  They  had  played  together  as  children  ; 
studied  together  ;  slept,  walked,  and  talked  together.  Every 
secret  was  shared  between  them.  If  Celia  was  sad,  Rosa- 
lind, who  was  light-hearted  by  nature,  would  have  some 
cheery  word  or  merry  sport,  to  beguile  her  of  her  sorrow. 
It  was  not  often  that  Rosalind  needed  comfort,  but  now,  for  once,  it  was  she  who 
was  dull  and  out  of  spirits  ;  and  as  they 
entered  one  of  the  apartments  of  the 
palace  in  their  usual  affectionate  way, 
she  was  silent  and  sad,  and  so  little  like 
her  usual  self  that  Celia  jested  with  her 
and  teased  her,  in  a  kindly  way. 

"  Why,  cousin  ;  why,  Rosalind,"  she 
said,  —  "  not  a  word  ?  " 

"  Not  one  to  throw  at  a  dog,"  an- 
swered Rosalind,  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  My  dear  Rosalind,  this  will  never 
do.  Come,  come;  wrestle  with  thy 
affections." 

"That  I  cannot  do,"  answered 
Rosalind;  "they  take  the  part  of  a 
better  wrestler  than  myself." 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  Celia,  "on 
such  a  sudden,  you  should  fall  into  so 
strong  a  liking  with  old  Sir  Rowland's  youngest  son?  " 

"The  Duke  my  father  loved  his  father  dearly,"  Rosalind  innocently  replied. 


g4  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE  YOUNG    FOLK. 

"  Is  that  any  reason,"  answered  Celia,  laughing,  "  that  you  should  love  his  son 
dearly  ?  If  that  is  so,  then  I  should  hate  him,  for  my  father  hated  his  father  dearly.a 
Yet  I  hate  not  Orlando." 

"  No,  faith,  hate  him  not,  for  my  sake.  Let  me  love  him  for  deserving  well, 
and  do  you  love  him  because  I  do.  Look,  here  comes  the  Duke,  your  father,  and 
evidently  very  angry." 

Duke  Frederick  entered  with  a  heavy  frown  upon  his  face  and  a  severe  look 
in  his  eyes.  He  spoke  harshly  to  Rosalind,  and  bade  her  leave  the  court  without 
delay,  threatening  her  with  death  if  after  ten  days  she  should  be  found  within 
twenty  miles  of  the  palace. 

"  I  do  beseech  your  Grace,"  said  Rosalind,  — 

Let  me  the  knowledge  of  my  fault  bear  with  me : 
Never  so  much  as  in  a  thought  unborn 
Did  I  offend  your  Highness. 

Duke  Fredc7-ick.    Let  it  suffice  thee,  that  I  trust  thee  not. 

Rosalind.    Yet  your  mistrust  cannot  make  me  a  traitor. 
Tell  me  whereon  the  likelihood  depends. 

Duke  Frederick.    Thou  art  thy  father's  daughter ;    there  's  enough. 

Rosalind.    So  was  I  when  your  Highness  took  his  dukedom  ; 
So  was  I  when  your  Highness  banished  him. 
Treason  is  not  inherited,  my  lord  ; 
Or,  if  we  did  derive  it  from  our  friends, 
What 's  that  to  me  ?  my  father  was  no  traitor. 

Celia.    Dear  sovereign,  hear  me  speak. 

Duke  Frederick.    Ay,  Celia  :  we  stayed  her  for  your  sake ; 
Else  had  she  with  her  father  ranged  along. 

Celia.    I  did  not  then  entreat  to  have  her  stay: 
It  was  your  pleasure,  and  your  own  remorse.1 
I  was  too  young  that  time  to  value  her ; 
But  now  I  know  her.     If  she  be  a  traitor, 
Why,  so  am  I  ;  we  still  have  slept  together, 
Rose  at  an  instant,  learned,  played,  eat  together ; 
And  wheresoe'er  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans, 
Still  we  went  coupled,  and  inseparable. 

Duke  Frederick.    She  is  too  subtle  for  thee  ;  and  her  smoothness, 
Her  very  silence,  and  her  patience, 
Speak  to  the  people,  and  they  pity  her. 
Thou  art  a  fool ;  she  robs  thee  of  thy  name  ; 
And  thou  wilt  show  more  bright,  and  seem  more  virtuous, 
When  she  is  gone.     Then,  open  not  thy  lips  : 


1  Compassion. 
a  In  Shakespeare's  time  people  talked  of  hating  dearly  almost  as  much  as  they  did  of 
loving  dearly. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  •  95 

Firm  and  irrevocable  is  my  doom 

Which  I  have  passed  upon  her.     She  is  banished. 

Celia.    Pronounce  that  sentence,  then,  on  me,  my  liege. 
I  cannot  live  out  of  her  company. 

Duke  Frederick.    You  are  a  fool.  —  You,  niece,  provide  yourself  : 
If  you  out-stay  the  time,  upon  mine  honor, 
And  in  the  greatness  of  my  word,  you  die. 

After  sternly  uttering  these  words,  Duke  Frederick  departed  with  his  attendants. 

Celia.    O  my  poor  Rosalind  !  whither  wilt  thou  go  ? 
Wilt  thou  change  fathers  ?     I  will  give  thee  mine. 
I  charge  thee,  be  not  thou  more  grieved  than  I  am. 

Rosalind.    I  have  more  cause. 

Celia.  Thou  hast  not,  cousin. 

Pr'ythee,  be  cheerful:  know'st  thou  not,  the  Duke 
Hath  banished  me,  his  daughter  ? 

Rosalind.  That  he  hath  not. 

Celia.    No  ?  hath  not  ?  Rosalind  lacks,  then,  the  love, 
Which  teacheth  me  that  thou  and  I  are  one. 
Shall  we  be  sundered  ?  shall  we  part,  sweet  girl? 
No  ;  let  my  father  seek  another  heir. 
Therefore,  devise  with  me  how  we  may  fly, 
Whither  to  go,  and  what  to  bear  with  us  : 
And  do  not  seek  to  take  the  charge  upon  you, 
To  bear  your  griefs  yourself,  and  leave  me  out. 
Say  what  thou  canst,  I  '11  go  along  with  thee. 

Rosalind.    Why,  whither  shall  we  go  ? 

Celia.  To  seek  my  uncle 

In  the  Forest  of  Arden. 

Rosalind.    Alas,  what  danger  will  it  be  to  us, 
Maids  as  we  are,  to  travel  forth  so  far ! 
Beauty  provoketh  thieves  sooner  than  gold. 

Celia.    I  '11  put  myself  in  poor  and  mean  attire, 
And  with  a  kind  of  umber  a  smirch  my  face. 
The  like  do  you  :  so  shall  we  pass  along, 
And  never  stir  assailants. 

Rosalind.  Were  it  not  better, 

Because  that  I  am  more  than  common  tall, 
That  I  did  [dress  exactly]  like  a  man  ? 
A  gallant  curtle-axe  1  upon  my  thigh, 
A  boar-spear  in  my  hand  ;  and  in  my  heart  — 
Lie  there  what  hidden  woman's  fear  there  will  — 

1  Cutlass. 
a  Umber  is  a  yellowish  earth,  which  is  found  in  Umbria,  Italy,  and  made  into  a  kind  of 
dusky  paint. 


96 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 


We  '11  have  a  [swaggering]  and  a  martial  outside, 
As  many  other  mannish  cowards  have. 

Celia.    What  shall  I  call  thee  when  thou  art  a  man  ? 

Rosalind.    I  '11  have  no  worse  a  name  than  Jove's  own  page, 
And  therefore  look  you  call  me  Ganymede.3 
But  what  will  you  be  called  ? 

Celia.    Something  that  hath  a  reference  to  my  state  : 
No  longer  Celia,  but  Aliena.b 

Rosalind.    But,  cousin,  what  if  we  [contrived]  to  steal 
The  clownish  fool  out  of  your  father's  court? 
Would  he  not  be  a  comfort  to  our  travel  ? 

Celia.    He  '11  go  along  o'er  the  wide  world  with  me ; 
Leave  me  alone  to  woo  him.     Let 's  away, 
And  get  our  jewels  and  our  wealth  together, 
Devise  the  fittest  time  and  safest  way 
To  hide  us  from  pursuit  that  will  be  made 
After  my  flight.     Now  go  we  in  content 
To  liberty,  and  not  to  banishment. 

a  Ganymede,  in  the  old  Greek  mythology,  was  a  beautiful  youth  who  was  carried  away  on 
an  eagle  to  Olympus,  to  be  cup-bearer  to  Jove,  the  king  of  the  gods. 

b  The  metre  requires  this  name  to  be  pronounced  in  four  syllables,  with  the  accent  on 
the  second :  A-le-e-na. 


IV. 


Act  II.     Scene  i. 

j^UKE  FREDERICK,  the  father  of  Celia,  as  we  have  seen, 
had  no  right  to  the  kingdom  which  he  called  his ;  it  really 
belonged  to  his  elder  brother,  the  father  of  Rosalind.     But 
those  old  times  were  troublous  and  uncertain.     One  might 
be  a  king  to-day  and  a  banished  outlaw  to-morrow  ;  for  might 
made  right,  and  he  who  could  win  a  kingdom  and  hold  it 
cared  very  little  about  the  rightful  owner. 
Duke  Frederick,  then,  having  a  powerful  army,  had  seized  his  brother's  duke- 
dom and  palace,  and  banished  that  brother  and  his  followers.     But  he  had  kept, 
as  a  companion  for  Celia,  the  pretty  Rosalind,  who  was  quite  as  good  and  lovely 
as  she  had  appeared  in  Le  Beau's  description. 

The  banished  Duke  seemed  to  take  his  misfortunes  like  a  philosopher,  and 
with  his  co-mates  and  brothers  in  exile  had  made  a  home  in  the  Forest  of  Arden, 
where  they  might  indeed  feel  the  churlish  chiding  of  the  winter's  wind,  but  not  the 
cruel  falseness  of  the  envious  court.  The  blasts  might  bite  and  blow  upon  his 
body,  but,  even  while  shrinking  with  cold,  he  would  only  wrap  his  mantle  the  closer 
round  his  shivering  form,  and  laughingly  remark  that  these  at  least  were  not  like 
flattering  courtiers,  but  frankly  reminded  him  that  he  was  a  man  like  other  men. 

The  Duke  was  so  enchanted  with  the  freedom  of  his  new  life,  that  he  began  to 
be  rather  glad  of  the  trouble  and  sorrow  which  had  brought  him  there,  and  used 
to  say,  — 

Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 

Which,  like  the  toad,a  ugly  and  venomous, 

Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head  ; 

And  this  our  life,  [remote]  from  public  haunt, 

Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 

Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  every  thing. 

a  The  ancients  had  a  toad-stone,  so  called  only  from  its  resemblance  in  color  to  that  rep- 
tile. From  this  curious  epithet  arose,  in  later  times,  the  fable  that  the  toad  had  in  its  head  a 
stone  endued  with  wondrous  virtues. 


DEER    IN    THE    FOREST    OF    ARDEN. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 


99 


One  day,  Amiens,  one  of  the  lords  who  had  gone  into  exile  with  the  Duke, 
complimented  his  master  upon  this  cheerful  contentment,  and  then  accepted  the 
proposal  of  his  Grace  to  join  in  a  hunting  party. 

The  Forest  of  Arden  was  full  of  beautiful  deer,  that  really  seemed  to  have  more 
right  to  their  native  home,  the  forest,  than  these  hunters  had.  Even  the  Duke 
sometimes  felt  doubtful  about  killing  them,  and  Jaques,  the  melancholy  Jaques,  — 
a  queer,  odd  man,  who,  having  become  tired  of  the  world,  had  joined  this  com- 
pany more  to  get  rid  of  worldly  society  than  for  any  other  reason,  —  insisted  that 
the  Duke  was  as  much  of  an  usurper  in  their  domain  as  his  brother,  Duke 
Frederick,  had  been  in  seizing  the  dukedom. 

"  Indeed,  my  lord,"  said  one  of  the  merry  hunters,  — 

The  melancholy  Jaques  grieves  at  that ; 
And,  in  that  kind,  swears  you  do  more  usurp 
Than  doth  your  brother  that  hath  banished  you. 
To-day,  my  lord  of  Amiens  and  myself 
Did  steal  behind  him,  as  he  lay  along 
Under  an  oak,  whose  antique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  this  wood  ; 
To  the  which  place  a  poor  [secluded]  stag, 
That  from  the  hunter's  aim  had  taken  a  hurt, 
Did  come  to  languish  :  and,  indeed,  my  lord, 
The  wretched  animal  heaved  forth  such  groans, 
That  their  discharge  did  stretch  his  leathern  coat 
Almost  to  bursting  ;  and  the  big  round  tears 
Coursed  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase :  and  thus  the  hairy  fool, 
Much  marked  of  the  melancholy  Jaques, 
Stood  on  the  extremest  verge  of  the  swift  brook, 
[Increasing]  it  with  tears. a 

Dtike  Senior.  But  what  said  Jaques  ? 

"O,"  answered  the  hunter  who  had  secretly  watched  him,  "he  pitied  the 
deer  for  wasting  his  tears  by  weeping  into  the  stream  that  was  already  full  of  water  : 
which  he  said  was  like  wealthy  men  leaving  money  in  their  wills  to  people  who  had 
too  much  already.  When  the  sleek-coated  friends  of  the  poor  animal  had  left 
him  alone,  Jaques  said  it  was  the  way  of  the  world  :  the  miserable  were  always 
abandoned  :  if  a  man  were  poor  and  in  trouble,  his  rich  and  comfortable  friends 
passed  him  without  a  thought :  and  there  we  left  him  weeping  and  talking  about 
the  poor  sobbing  deer." 

The  Duke  rather  liked  to  see  Jaques  in  these  queer  moods,  for  he  was  always 
more  entertaining  then ;  so  he  hastened  away,  in  company  with  Amiens  and  the 
other  lords,  to  seek  this  singular  man. 


a  The  poet  Drayton  says,  in  a  note  on  a  certain  passage  in  one  of  his  own  poems,  "  The 
hart  weepeth  at  his  dying;  his  tears  are  held  precious  in  medicine." 


ifii^ 

iraiii! 

.:;■ 

IipiflP^ 

ilH 

llillllE1!! 

''IK 

K^WIMls 

r^ffl 

P'  ^SjSy&f^ 

jl^s^CJ 

b 

vMjjsl 

**&      'J&Wr 

(Vf 

Blfcl 

HE  i  y~ 

pTN; 

fj]M 

"5*1 

Ww^ 

«^^jf 

H^^V^^&iMii 

iStff^tl^— 

:5P*xi 

i~^>  tf~ 

imm^td 

' 

"    '''<---:' 

PPfeTOlW*K3^ 

jS»M 

V. 


Act  II.     Scenes  2,  3. 

SY  this  time  Duke  Frederick  had  discovered  his  daughter's 
absence,  and,  as  we  might  well  suppose,  was  furious.  No 
one  could  tell  him  anything  more  than  this  :  her  ladies-in- 
waiting  had  seen  her  go  to  bed  as  usual,  but  in  the  morning 
she  was  gone.  One  of  the  noblemen  of  the  court  added,  that 
the  clown  Touchstone  was  also  missing,  and,  in  his  opinion, 
the  young  ladies  were  to  be  found  in  the  company  of  the 
handsome  young  wrestler  who  had  got  the  better  of  Charles  in  the  wrestling-match. 
One  thing  was  certain,  they  had  been  heard  to  admire  and  praise  him  very 
warmly,  and  it  was  believed  in  the  court  that,  wherever  they  were  gone,  that  youth 
was  surely  in  their  company. 

Duke  Frederick  was  doubly  angry  at  this.  He  could  not  like  Orlando,  who  was 
the  son  of  his  old  enemy,  Sir  Rowland  de  Bois,  and  the  thought  that  his  own 
daughter  Celia  might  be  in  such  company  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 

In  these  days  of  telegraphs  and  railroads  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  hunt  up  runa- 
ways, but  then  it  was  a  far  more  difficult  affair.  The  great  forests  were  full  of 
delightful  hiding-places,  and  unless  Duke  Frederick  had  some  one  to  help  him 
who  was  as  earnest  to  find  the  fugitives  as  himself,  it  might  be  long  before  any  tidings 
would  reach  the  court.  But  the  Duke  suddenly  bethought  him  of  the  brother  with 
whom  Orlando  lived,  and  he  despatched  messengers  to  the  house  of  Oliver,  with 
orders  to  bring  the  young  wrestler  into  his  presence.  "  If  he  be  absent,"  he 
added,  "  bring  his  brother  to  me  ;  I  will  make  him  answerable.  Do  it  quickly, 
and  let  not  search  and  inquiry  cease,  until  these  foolish  runaways  be  arrested  and 
brought  back  again." 

As  Orlando  was  returning  from  the  scene  of  his  triumph  to  Oliver's  house, 
thinking  very  likely  of  all  that  had  happened  the  day  before,  —  of  his  victory  over 
the  burly  prize-fighter ;  the  lovely  princesses,  and  their  kind  words ;  Rosalind's 
kinder  looks  and  bright  smiles ;  her  gift  of  the  golden  chain,  now  hanging  about 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 


IOI 


O,  my  gentle  master,  what  are 


his  neck,  which  made  it  certain  that  all  was  not  merely  a  happy  dream,  —  he  heard 
a  step,  and,  suddenly  raising  his  head,  he  demanded,  "  Who  's  there  ?  " 

It  was  old  Adam,  who  had  come  out  on  purpose  to  meet  him,  and  warn  him 
of  a  great  danger. 

"  What !  my  young  master  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
you  doing  here?  Why  do  people  love 
you  ?  Wherefore  are  you  so  gentle,  strong, 
and  valiant?  Why  were  you  so  foolish  as 
to  overcome  the  Duke's  big,  bony  wres- 
tler?" 

"  Why,  what  's  the   matter,  Adam  ?  " 
answered  Orlando. 

"  O  unhappy  youth,"  said  Adam ; 
"  come  not  within  these  doors  !  Your 
brother  hates  you.  He  has  heard  of  your 
success,  and  means  to  burn  your  lodging,  %_ 
and  you  in  it,  this  very  night.  You  must 
not  enter  it." 

"Why,  whither,  Adam,  wouldst  thou 
have  me  go?  " 

"  No  matter  whither,  so  you  come  not 
here." 

"  What,  wouldst  thou  have  me  beg  my 
bread,  or  with  a  base  sword  force  a  thievish  living  on  the  common  road  ?     That  I 
will  never  do.     I  would  rather  stay  here,  subject  to  my  unnatural,  bloody  brother." 

Adam.    But  do  not  so.     I  have  five  hundred  crowns, 
The  thrifty  hire  I  saved  under  your  father, 
Which  I  did  store,  to  be  my  foster-nurse 
When  service  should  in  my  old  limbs  lie  lame, 
And  unregarded  age  in  corners  thrown. 
Take  that :  and  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed, 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow,  / 

Be  comfort  to  my  age  !     Here  is  the  gold  : 
All  this  I  give  you.     Let  me  be  your  servant : 
Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty  ; 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood ; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter* 
Frosty,  but  kindly.     Let  me  go  with  you: 
I  '11  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man 
In  all  your  business  and  necessities. 

"  O  good  old  man,  how  different  is  thy  faithful  service  from  that  of  those  who 
only  serve  for  their  own  selfish  ends  !  "  exclaimed  Orlando ;  — 


102 


SHAKESPEARE    FOR    THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 


But,  poor  old  man,  thou  prun'st  a  rotten  tree, 
That  cannot  so  much  as  a  blossom  yield, 
In  lieu  of  1  all  thy  pains  and  husbandry. 
But  come  thy  ways :  we  '11  go  along  together, 
And  ere  we  have  thy  youthful  wages  spent, 
We  '11  light  upon  some  settled  low  content. 

Adam.    Master,  go  on,  and  I  will  follow  thee 
To  the  last  gasp  with  truth  and  loyalty. 
From  seventeen  years,  till  now  almost  fourscore, 
Here  lived  I,  but  now  live  here  no  more. 

Then  Orlando  and  Adam  set  forth  together,  the  old  man  leaning  on  the  young 
one,  who  carried  his  bundle,  and  cheered  and  comforted  him,  as  they  went  out  into 
the  world  to  seek  their  fortune. 

1  In  return  for. 


VI. 


Act  II.     Scene  4. 

!  FTER  a  long  and  weary  journey  on  foot,  Rosalind  and  Celia, 
with  Touchstone,  the  court  fool,  in  whose  kindness  and  devo- 
tion she  had  not  been  mistaken,  entered  at  last  the  Forest  of 
Arden.  Rosalind,  who  was  quite  tall,  wore,  as  she  had  pro- 
posed, the  dress  of  a  young  man,  and  called  herself  Ganymede. 
Celia  had  taken  the  name  of  Aliena,  and  was  disguised  as  a 
peasant  girl,  to  represent  the  sister  of  Ganymede.  Their  faces 
were  colored  like  those  of  gypsies  or  sun-browned  peasants,  and  their  transforma- 
tion was  so  complete  that  their  own  fathers  would  not  have  recognized  them. 

They  were  all  weary  and  footsore,  and  Rosalind  declared  that  if  it  were  not 
for  her  man's  dress  she  could  find  it  in  her  heart  to  cry  like  a  woman.  But  she 
only  laughed  instead,  saying  :  "  But  I  must  comfort  the  weaker  vessel,  as  doublet 
and  hose  a  ought  to  show  itself  courageous  to  petticoat.  Therefore,  courage,  good 
Aliena  !  " 

Celia.    I  pray  you,  bear  with  me:  I  can  go  no  farther. 

Touchstone.  For  my  part,  I  had  rather  bear  with  you,  than  bear  you  :  yet  I  should 
bear  no  cross,"  if  I  did  bear  you,  for,  I  think,  you  have  no  money  in  your  purse. 

Rosalind.    Well,  this  is  the  Forest  of  Arden. 

Touchstone.  Ay,  now  am  I  in  Arden  ;  the  more  fool  I  :  when  I  was  at  home  I  was 
in  a  better  place,  but  travellers  must  be  content. 

Rosalind.  Ay,  be  so,  good  Touchstone.  —  Look  you  ;  who  comes  here  ?  a  young 
man,  and  an  old,  in  [earnest]  talk. 

These  were  Corin,  an  old,  gray-haired  shepherd,  and  Silvius,  a  youthful  shep- 
herd. They  were  talking  so  earnestly  that  they  saw  no  one,  as  they  walked  in  the 
shadow  of  the  great  trees. 


»  Doublet  and  hose  is  about  equivalent  to  coat  and  pantaloons  of  modern  times. 
b  In  Shakespeare's  time  certain  English  coins  had  a  cross  stamped  on  them,  and  hence 
were  called  crosses. 


104 


SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 


Silvius  was  telling  Corin  about  his  love  for  a  pretty  shepherdess  named 
Phebe,  who  was  not  so  kind  to  him  as  he  would  like  to  have   her.     So   affected 

was  he  with  his  own  story  that  the 
mere  mention  of  her  name  seemed 
more  than  he  could  bear,  and  he 
ran  away  to  hide  his  feelings. 

Poor  Rosalind,  hearing  Silvius 
talk  so  warmly  of  his  love  for  Phebe, 
finds  that  love  has  hurt  her  as  badly 
as  it  has  the  shepherd,  and  she  says 
sadly,  — 

Alas,   poor  shepherd !    searching  of 

thy  wound, 
I  have  by  hard  adventure  found  mine 

own. 

Touchstone.  And  I  mine.  I  re- 
member, when  I  was  in  love  I  broke 
my  sword  upon  a  stone,  and  bid  him 
take  that  for  coming  a-night  to  Jane 
Smile  :  and  I  remember  the  kissing  of  her  [clothes-pounder],  and  the  cow's  dugs 
that  her  pretty  chapped  hands  had  milked  :  and  I  remember  the  wooing  of  a  peascod 
instead  of  her ;  from  whom  I  took  two  cods,  and,  giving  her  them  again,  said  with 
weeping  tears,  "Wear  these  for  my  sake."  a  We,  that  are  true  lovers,  run  into 
strange  capers. 

Rosalind.  Love,  love  !  this  shepherd's  passion 

Is  much  upon  my  fashion. 
Touchstone.   And  mine  ;  but  it  grows  something  stale  with  me. 

Celia,  who  by  this  time  finds  herself  hungry  as  well  as  tired,  thinks  it 
would  be  much  better  to  get  some  food  and  a  resting-place  than  to  waste  so 
much  time  talking  nonsense.  She  is  afraid  Corin  will  follow  Silvius,  and  she 
exclaims,  — 

I  pray  you,  one  of  you  question  yond'  man, 
If  he  for  gold  will  give  us  any  food  : 
I  faint  almost  to  death. 

Touchstone.    Hallo,  you  clown  ! 

Rosalind.  Peace,  fool:  he  's  not  thy  kinsman. 

Corin.    Who  calls  ? 

Touchstone.   Your  betters,  sir. 

Co7-in.    Else  are  they  very  wretched. 


a  Touchstone  takes  two  pods  from  the  dish  of  his  kitchen  love,  as  she  is  shelling  peas,  and 
gives  them  to  her  again  for  ear-ornaments,, 


AS    YOU    LIKE   IT.  IO5 

Rosalind.  Peace,  I  say.  — 

Good  even  to  you,  friend. 

Covin.    And  to  you,  gentle  sir  ;  and  to  you  all. 

Rosalind.    I  pr'ythee,  shepherd,  if  that  love  or  gold 
Can  in  this  desert  place  buy  entertainment, 
Bring  us  where  we  may  rest  ourselves  and  feed. 
Here  's  a  young  maid  with  travel  much  oppressed, 
And  faints  for  succor. 

Conn.  Fair  sir,  I  pity  her, 

And  wish,  for  her  sake  more  than  for  mine  own, 
My  fortunes  were  more  able  to  relieve  her ; 
But  I  am  shepherd  to  another  man, 
And  do  not  shear  the  fleeces  that  I  graze  : 
My  master  is  of  churlish  disposition, 
And  little  [cares]  to  find  the  way  to  heaven 
By  doing  deeds  of  hospitality. 
Besides,  his  cote,1  his  flocks,  and  [pasture-fields], 
Are  now  on  sale  ;  and  at  our  sheepcote  now, 
By  reason  of  his  absence,  there  is  nothing 
That  you  will  feed  on  ;  but  what  is,  come  see, 
And  in  my  voice  a  most  welcome  shall  you  be. 

Rosalind.    What  is  he  that  shall  buy  his  flock  and  pasture  ? 

Corin.    That  young  swain  that  you  saw  here  but  [just  now], 
That  little  cares  for  buying  anything. 

Rosalind.   I  pray  thee,  if  it  stand  with  honesty, 
Buy  thou  the  cottage,  pasture,  and  the  flock, 
And  thou  shalt  have  to  pay  for  it  of  us. 

Celia.    And  we  will  mend  thy  wages.     I  like  this  place, 
And  willingly  could  [spend]  my  time  in  it. 

Corin.    Assuredly,  the  thing  is  to  be  sold. 
Go  with  me  :  if  you  like,  upon  report, 
The  soil,  the  profit,  and  this  kind  of  life, 
I  will  your  very  faithful  feeder  be, 
And  buy  it  with  your  gold  [immediately]. 

So  Rosalind  and  Celia  went  with  Corin  to  see  the  cottage,  well  pleased  at  the 
prospect  of  even  so  humble  a  home  as  a  shepherd's  hut  in  the  grand  old  forest. 

1  Cottage. 
*  That  is,  as  far  as  my  voice  has  any  power. 


Act  II. 


■VII. 

Scenes  5-7. 

~<€ .****'  N  an  open  glade  in  another  part  of  the  forest,  the  hunters  and 
lords  had  prepared  a  banquet  under  the  trees  for  their  exiled 
Duke.  While  they  were  waiting  for  him,  Amiens,  to  pass  the 
time,  sang  a  merry  song,  Jaques  and  the  rest  joining  in  the 
chorus. 


Under  the  greenwood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither  : 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Jaques.    More,  more  !  I  pr'ythee,  more. 

Amiens.    It  will  make  you  melancholy,  Monsieur  Jaques. 

Jaques.  I  thank  it.  More !  I  pr'ythee,  more.  I  can  suck  melancholy  out  of  a 
song,  as  a  weasel  sucks  eggs.    More  !   I  pr'ythee,  more. 

Amiens.    My  voice  is  [rough]  ;  I  know  I  cannot  please  you. 

Jaques.  I  do  not  desire  you  to  please  me  ;  I  do  desire  you  to  sing.  Come,  sing ; 
and  you  that  will  not,  hold  your  tongues. 

Amiens.  Well,  I  '11  end  the  song.  —  Sirs,  [set  the  table,  meanwhile]  ;  the  Duke  will 
drink  under  this  tree.  —  He  hath  been  all  this  day  to  look  [for]  you. 

Jaques.  And  I  have  been  all  this  day  to  avoid  him.  He  is  too  disputable  for  my 
company :  I  think  of  as  many  matters  as  he,  but  I  give  Heaven  thanks,  and  make  no 
boast  of  them.     Come,  warble  ;  come. 


So  they  sing  another  verse  of  the  song  : 


Who  doth  ambition  shun, 
And  loves  to  live  in  the  S7in, 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  IO7 

Seeking  the  food  he  eats, 
And pleased  with  what  he  gets, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither  : 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  etiemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

And  then  Jaques  says  that  he  will  go  somewhere  and  sleep,  while  the  rest  go  to 
seek  the  Duke,  and  bring  him  to  the  picnic  feast. 

In  the  mean  time,  in  still  another  part  of  the  forest,  Orlando  and  Adam  were 
having  a  hard  time.  The  journey  had  been  long  and  tedious.  They  had  brought 
no  food  with  them,  and  poor  old  Adam,  who  had  dragged  wearily  along  for  many 
hours,  supported  by  Orlando's  strong  arm  and  loving  heart,  at  last  gave  way  entirely, 
and  sank  down  upon  the  ground,  murmuring  feebly,  — 

Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  further  :  O,  I  die  for  food  !  Here  lie  I  down,  and  meas- 
ure out  my  grave.      Farewell,  kind  master. 

Orlando.  Why,  how  now,  Adam  !  no  greater  heart  in  thee  ?  Live  a  little  ;  com- 
fort a  little  ;  cheer  thyself  a  little.  If  this  uncouth  forest  yield  anything  savage,a  I  will 
either  be  food  for  it,  or  bring  it  for  food  to  thee.  For  my  sake  be  comforted ;  hold 
death  awhile  at  the  arm's  end.  I  will  be  here  with  thee  presently,  and  if  I  bring  thee 
not  something  to  eat,  I  will  give  thee  leave  to  die.  Well  [done]  !  thou  look'st  cheerily; 
and  I  '11  be  with  thee  quickly.  —  Yet  thou  liest  in  the  bleak  air  :  come,  I  will  bear  thee 
to  some  shelter,  and  thou  shalt  not  die  for  lack  of  a  dinner,  if  there  live  anything  in 
this  desert.     Cheerily,  good  Adam  ! 

Orlando  folded  the  old  man's  scant  cloak  around  his  trembling  form,  and  hav- 
ing made  him  as  comfortable  as  was  possible  there  in  the  heart  of  the  forest, 
said  a  few  kind  and  cheering  words,  and  departed. 

While  the  young  man  was  ranging  the  woods  in  search  of  some  place  which  might 
offer  shelter  and  food,  the  merry  party  of  nobles  had  gathered  again  where  their 
banquet  was  spread.  The  Duke  missed  Jaques,  and,  unwilling  to  have  the  feast 
begin  without  him,  sent  one  of  the  lords  to  seek  him.  At  the  same  moment  they 
saw  him  approaching  in  the  distance,  laughing  to  himself,  as  it  were,  over  some 
merry  thought. 

Now  the  thing  that  had  so  pleased  Jaques  was  this.  He  had  met  Touchstone 
lying  under  the  trees  in  his  funny  parti-colored  fool's-dress,  and  his  cap  and  bells 
(for  Touchstone  had  not  disguised  himself,  but  wore  the  very  clothes  that  belonged 
to  his  office  in  the  court),  and  it  seemed  to  Jaques  the  drollest  sight  in  the  world, 
to  meet  far  away  in  the  forest  a  Court  Fool,  a  thing  the  most  out  of  place  that  it  was 
possible  to  conceive. 

"  Why,  how  now,  Monsieur  !  "  cried  the  Duke,  as  he  drew  nearer  ;  "  what  does 
this  mean?     You  seem  to  be  merry  ! " 

a  That  is,  any  wild  game. 


IQg         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Jaques.    A  fool,  a  fool !  —  I  met  a  fool  i'  the  forest. 
As  I  do  live  by  food,  I  met  a  fool ; 
Who  laid  him  down  and  basked  him  in  the  sun, 
And  railed  on  Lady  Fortune  in  good  terms, 
In  good  set  terms. — and  yet  a  motley  fool. 
"  Good-morrow,  fool,"  quoth  I  :   "  No,  sir,"  quoth  he, 
"  Call  me  not  fool,  till  heaven  hath  sent  me  fortune."  a 
And  then  he  drew  a  dial '  from  his  [pouch], 
And  looking  on  it  with  lack-lustre  eye, 
Says  very  wisely,  "  It  is  ten  o'clock  : 
Thus  may  we  see,"  quoth  he,  "  how  the  world  wags  : 
'T  is  but  an  hour  ago  since  it  was  nine, 
And  after  one  hour  more  't  will  be  eleven  ; 
And  so  from  hour  to  hour  we  ripe  and  ripe, 
And  then  from  hour  to  hour  we  rot  and  rot ; 
And  thereby  hangs  a  tale."     When  I  did  hear 
The  motley  fool  thus  moral  on  the  time, 
My  lungs  began  to  crow  like  chanticleer, 
That  fools  should  be  so  deep-contemplative  ; 
And  I  did  laugh,  [without  cessation], 
An  hour  by  his  dial. 

O,  that  I  were  a  fool  ! 
I  am  ambitious  for  a  motley  coat. 

Duke  Senior.    Thou  shalt  have  one. 

Jaques.  It  is  my  only  suit. 

But  who  comes  here? 

Jaques  might  well  exclaim,  for,  as  he  spoke,  Orlando  rushed  madly  into  the 
midst  of  the  idle  group,  his  sword  drawn,  and  his  face  haggard  with  fatigue  and 
hunger.     With  a  threatening  gesture,  he  shouted,  — 

Forbear,  and  eat  no  more  ! 

Jaques.  Why,  I  have  eat  none  yet. 

Orlando.    Nor  shalt  not,  till  necessity  be  served. 

Jaques.    Of  what  kind  should  this  cock  come  of  ? 

Duke  Senior.    Art  thou  thus  boldened,  man,  by  thy  distress, 
Or  else  a  rude  despiser  of  good  manners, 
That  in  civility  thou  seem'st  so  empty  ? 

Orlando.    You  touched  my  vein  at  first :  the  thorny  point 
Of  bare  distress  hath  ta'en  from  me  the  show 
Of  smooth  civility  ;  yet  am  I  inland  bred," 

1  Watch. 

a  That  is,  "  Call  me  not  fool  till  I  have  got  rich  ;  "  alluding  to  the  old  proverb,  "  Fortune 
favors  fools,"  or,  as  is  sometimes  said  now-a-days,  "  It  takes  a  fool  to  make  money." 

b  Iirfand  bred — remote  from  the  sea-shore,  where  the  people  were  mostly  coarse  and 
ill-bred. 


AS   YOU    LIKE   IT. 


IO9 


And  know  some  nurture.1     But  forbear,  I  say: 
He  dies,  that  touches  any  of  this  fruit, 
Till  I  and  my  affairs  are  answered. 

Jaques.    If  you  will  not  be  answered  with  reason, 
I  must  die. 

Duke  Senior.    What  would  you  have  ?     Your  gentleness  shall  force, 
More  than  your  force  move  us  to  gentleness. 

Orlando.    I  almost  die  for  food,  and  let  me  have  it. 


1  Culture,  breeding 


IIO  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 

Duke  Senior.    Sit  down  and  feed,  and  welcome  to  our  table. 

Orlando.    Speak  you  so  gently?     Pardon  me,  I  pray  you. 
I  thought  that  all  things  had  been  savage  here, 
And  therefore  put  I  on  the  countenance 
Of  stern  commandment.     But  whate'er  you  are, 
That,  in  this  desert  inaccessible, 
Under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs, 
Lose  and  neglect  the  creeping  hours  of  time, 
If  ever  you  have  looked  on  better  days, 
If  ever  been  where  bells  have  knolled  to  church, 
If  ever  sat  at  any  good  man's  feast, 
If  ever  from  your  eyelids  wiped  a  tear, 
And  know  what  't  is  to  pity  and  be  pitied, 
Let  gentleness  my  strong  enforcement  be. 
In  the  which  hope  I  blush,  and  hide  my  sword.  [Sheathes  his  sword. 

Duke  Senior.    True  is  it  that  we  have  seen  better  days, 
And  have  with  holy  bell  been  knolled  to  church, 
And  sat  at  good  men's  feasts,  and  wiped  our  eyes 
Of  drops  that  sacred  pity  hath  engendered  ; 
And  therefore  sit  you  down  in  gentleness, 
And  take,  upon  command,  what  help  we  have, 
That  to  your  wanting  may  be  ministered. 

Orlando.    Then,  but  forbear  your  food  a  little  while, 
"While,  like  a  doe,  I  go  to  find  my  fawn, 
And  give  it  food.     There  is  an  old  poor  man, 
Who  after  me  hath  many  a  weary  step 
Limped  in  pure  love  :  till  he  be  first  sufficed,  — 
Oppressed  with  two  weak  evils,  age  and  hunger,  — 
I  will  not  touch  a  bit. 

Dt.ke  Senior.  Go  find  him  out, 

And  we  will  nothing  waste  till  you  return. 

Orlando.    I  thank  ye ;  and  be  blessed  for  your  good  comfort ! 

When  Orlando  found  how  kindly  he  was  received,  he  was  ashamed  of  his  vio- 
lence, and,  apologizing  to  the  company,  he  hastened  away  to  bring  poor  old  Adam 
where  food  and  drink  and  comfort  awaited  him. 

Then  the  Duke  turned  to  Jaques,  saying,  — 

Thou  seest,  we  are  not  all  alone  unhappy  : 
This  wide  and  universal  theatre 
Presents  more  woful  pageants  than  the  scene 
Wherein  we  play. 

Jaques  {after  a  little  reflection^.    All  the  world  's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players : 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances, 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts, 
His  acts  being  seven  ages.     At  first,  the  infant, 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  Ill 

Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms. 

Then,  the  whining  school-boy,  with  his  satchel, 

And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 

Unwillingly  to  school.     And  then,  the  lover, 

Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 

Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow.     Then,  a  soldier, 

Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard,1 

Jealous  in  honor,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel, 

Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 

Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth.     And  then,  the  justice, 

In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lined, 

With  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut, 

Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  instances  ; a 

And  so  he  plays  his  part.     The  sixth  age  shifts 

Into  the  lean  and  slippered  pantaloon,b 

With  spectacles  on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side ; 

His  youthful  hose,  well  saved,  a  world  too  wide 

For  his  shrunk  shank,  and  his  big  manly  voice, 

Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 

And  whistles  in  its  sound.     Last  scene  of  all, 

That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history, 

Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion  ; 

Sans  2  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  everything. 

As  Jaques  ended  his  long  speech,  Orlando  entered,  bearing  old  Adam  in  his 
arms.  The  Duke  welcomed  them  both  heartily,  and  bade  Orlando  take  all  he 
desired  for  himself  and  the  old  man,  politely  saying  that  he  would  not  ask  them 
any  questions  about  their  misfortunes  until  they  were  rested  and  refreshed. 

Amiens,  at  the  request  of  the  Duke,  sang  again  for  their  entertainment,  all  the 
others  joining  in  the  chorus  as  before. 

SONG. 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 

As  man's  ingratitude j 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen, 
Because  thou  art  foreseen, 
Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh,  ho  /  sing,  heigh,  ho  !  unto  the  green  holly : 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly  : 
Then,  heigh,  ho  /  the  holly  ! 
This  life  is  most  jolly. 

1  Leopard.  2  Without. 

a  Solemn  sayings  and  worn-out  anecdotes. 

b  The  pantaloon  was  a  common  character  in  old  Italian  plays,  and  has  come  down  to  us 
in  the  pantomime,  together  with  harlequin,  columbine,  and  the  clown.  He  was  always  a  thin 
old  man  in  slippers. 


112         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
That  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 

As  benefits  forgot : 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp,3' 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 
As  friend  remembered  not. 
Heigh,  ho  !  sing,  etc. 

This  song,  you  see,  was  quite  appropriate  to  the  situation  of  many  of  the  per- 
sons of  our  story,  who  were  preferring  the  rough  but  merry  forest-life  to  the  deceit 
and  cruelty  found  in  cities  and  courts. 

After  seeing  that  Adam's  needs  were  supplied,  Orlando  hastened  to  tell  the 
Duke  about  himself. 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  the  good  Duke  to  learn  that  Orlando  was  the  son  of 
his  old  friend  Sir  Rowland  de  Bois.  He  greeted  the  youth  again  most  cordially, 
and  said  to  Adam  :  "  Good  old  man,  thou  art  right  welcome,  as  thy  master  is. 
Come  to  my  cave,  and  tell  me  all :  I  would  know  everything."  And  the  gracious 
Duke  —  no  longer  in  a  court,  but  a  gentleman  still,  even  in  the  rough,  wild  forest  — 
raised  the  old  man  by  the  hand,  and,  directing  one  of  the  lords  to  lend  the  needed 
support,  led  the  way  to  his  retreat. 

a  To  warp  is  to  weave  (into  a  covering  of  ice).  Old  Saxon  Proverb,  "  Winter  shall  warp 
water." 


VIII. 


Act  III.     Scenes  1-3. 


|EANWHILE,  at  the  palace,  Duke  Frederick  was  angry  enough 
when  all  the  search  and  questioning  failed  to  bring  back  his 
daughter  Celia,  or  even  any  news  of  her.  He  found  some 
comfort,  however,  in  scolding  and  threatening  Oliver.  The 
latter  certainly  had  reason  for  feeling  guilty  and  unhappy 
when  he  remembered  his  cruelty  to  Orlando ;  but  he  really 
knew  nothing  about  the  runaways,  and  said  so  quite  earnestly. 
The  Duke  would  not  believe  him,  for  he  was  sure  they  were  with  Orlando,  and 
Oliver  of  course  must  know  where  to  find  his  brother. 

"  Thou  hast  not  seen  him  ?  "  said  the  Duke  angrily.  "  Sir,  sir,  that  cannot  be  ; 
if  I  were  not  a  merciful  man,  I  should  take  my  revenge  on  thee  !  Look  to  it ; 
find  out  thy  brother,  wherever  he  may  be,  and  bring  him  here  alive  or  dead  within 
the  year.  Thy  lands  and  all  thy  possessions  are  forfeit ;  and  we  shall  keep  them 
until  thy  brother's  own  lips  shall  prove  thee  innocent." 

Oliver  was  not  ashamed  to  hate  Orlando,  and  to  have  cruelly  driven  him  out 
into  the  world  •  but  to  be  accused  by  the  Duke  of  being  in  league  with  him  to 
steal  away  the  pretty  young  princesses  was  too  much,  and  he  angrily  exclaimed : 
"  I  would  your  Highness  knew  my  heart  in  this  !  I  never  loved  my  brother  in 
my  life  !  " 

"  More  villain  thou  !  "  retorted  the  Duke. 

If  Oliver  really  fancied  the  Duke  would  like  him  the  better  for  hating  his 
brother,  he  soon  found  his  mistake  ;  for  the  Duke  only  told  the  officers  to  make 
the  more  haste  to  turn  him  out  of  doors,  and  to  seize  his  house  and  lands  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

In  the  great  Forest  of  Arden  many  different  things  were  going  on  at  once. 
The  Duke  and  his  lords  were  living  gayly,  —  enjoying  their  hunting,  feasting, 
and  singing,  and  having  little  care  for  the  world  outside.  Rosalind  and  Celia 
(or  Ganymede  and  Aliena)  lived  happily  in  the  little  cottage  purchased  from  the 


114  SHAKESPEARE    FOR    THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 

shepherd,  with  Touchstone  to  serve  them  and  divert  them  with  his  nonsense. 
Orlando  had  little  to  do  but  to  think  of  his  love  for  Rosalind,  now  that  Adam 
was  comfortably  cared  for  among  the  kindly  foresters. 

Orlando  seems  to  have  been  a  poet,  as  lovers  often  fancy  themselves  to  be, 
with  much  less  reason.  He  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  writing  verses  in  praise 
of  Rosalind,  and  although  it  is  likely  he  did  not  care  whether  others  read  them 
or  not,  he  got  a  kind  of  comfort  in  merely  expressing  his  feelings  in  these  verses, 
and  hanging  them  here  and  there  on  the  trees  of  the  forest.  It  made  him  happy 
also  to  carve  the  name  of  Rosalind  on  the  bark  of  the  trees  with  his  hunting-knife. 
One  day  he  had  just  finished  some  verses,  and  as  he  fastened  them  on  a  tree,  he 
said  to  himself  (for  there  certainly  was  no  one  to  hear  him),  — 

Hang  there,  my  verse,  in  witness  of  my  love  : 

And  thou,  thrice-crowned  queen  of  night,a  survey 
With  thy  chaste  eye,  from  thy  pale  sphere  above, 

Thy  huntress'  name,  that  my  full  life  doth  sway. 
O  Rosalind !  these  trees  shall  be  my  books, 

And  in  their  barks  my  thoughts  I  '11  character, 
That  every  eye,  which  in  this  forest  looks, 

Shall  see  thy  virtue  witnessed  everywhere. 
Run,  run,  Orlando  :  carve   on  every  tree 
The  fair,  the  chaste,  and  unexpressive  b  she. 

After  Orlando  had  left  one  tree  that  he  might  in  the  same  way  adorn  another, 
Corin,  the  old  shepherd,  came  along  with  Touchstone.  Strolling  to  an  open  space 
where  Corin's  sheep  could  graze,  they  seated  themselves  under  the  huge  trees 
and  went  on  with  their  conversation.  Now,  in  spite  of  his  motley  dress  and  fool's 
cap  and  bells,  Touchstone  liked  to  seem  wise,  and  to  give  good  advice  on  every 
occasion.  And  Corin  was  quite  ready  to  minister  to  this  self-importance,  for  he 
had  the  deepest  respect  for  the  superior  knowledge  of  the  gentleman  from  the 
Court,  and,  in  his  eyes,  Touchstone's  gay  attire  seemed  like  the  uniform  of  some 
illustrious  officer.  When  Corin  humbly  inquired,  "  And  how  like  you  this  shep- 
herd's life,  Master  Touchstone?"  Touchstone  answered  with  an  air  of  profound 
wisdom,  — 

Truly,  shepherd,  in  respect  of  itself,  it  is  a  good  life  ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  a 
shepherd's  life,  it  is  [bad].  In  respect  that  it  is  solitary,  I  like  it  very  well  ;  but  in 
respect  that  it  is  private,  it  is  a  very  vile  life.  Now,  in  respect  it  is  in  the  fields,  it 
pleaseth  me  well;  but  in  respect  it  is  not  in  the  Court,  it  is  tedious.  As  it  is  a  spare 
life,  look  you,  it  fits  my  humor  well ;  but  as  there  is  no  more  plenty  in  it,  it  goes  much 
against  my  stomach.     Hast  any  philosophy  in  thee,  shepherd  ? 


*   Thrice-crowned  queen  of  night — the  moon  (see  note  on  p.  68).      Thy  huntress'  name- 
Diana.     Orlando  calls  Rosalind  by  the  name  of  this  virtuous  goddess. 
b  Inexpressibly  lovely. 


CORIN    AND   TOUCHSTONE. 


Il6  SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 

Corin.  No  more,  but  that  I  know  the  more  one  sickens,  the  worse  at  ease  he  is; 
and  that  he  that  wants  money,  means,  and  content,  is  without  three  good  friends;  that 
the  property  of  rain  is  to  wet,  and  fire  to  burn ;  that  good  pasture  makes  fat  sheep, 
and  that  a  great  cause  of  the  night  is  lack  of  the  sun  ;  that  he  that  hath  learned  no  wit 
by  nature  nor  art,  may  complain  [that  he  lacks]  good  breeding,  or  comes  of  a  very  dull 
kindred. 

Touchstone.    Such  a  one  is  a  natural  philosopher.    Wast  ever  in  Court,  shepherd  ? 

Corin.    No,  truly. 

"  Then,"  said  Touchstone,  "  thy  case  is  hopeless ;  for  if  thou  wast  never  at 
Court,  thou  never  saw'st  good  manners ;  if  thy  manners  are  not  good,  they  are 
wicked,  and  wickedness  is  sin.     Thou  art  in  a  dangerous  condition,  shepherd." 

"  Not  a  whit,  Touchstone,"  said  Corin.  "  Those  manners  that  are  good  at 
Court  are  ridiculous  in  the  country.  You  say  courtiers  kiss  their  hands  when  they 
salute  one  another,  which  would  not  be  cleanly  among  shepherds,  for  our  hands 
are  not  clean ;  besides,  our  hands  are  hard  as  well  as  greasy." 

"Shallow  reasons,  O  most  shallow  man,"  replied  Touchstone.  "Thou  art 
green ;  there  's  no  hope  for  thee." 

"  Your  wit  is  too  courtly  for  me,  Master  Touchstone,"  answered  Corin.  "  I  '11 
stop.  I  am  a  true  laborer  :  I  earn  what  I  eat,  get  that  I  wear ;  owe  no  man  hate, 
envy  no  man's  happiness ;  am  glad  of  other  men's  good,  content  with  my  own 
harm ;  and  my  greatest  pride  is  to  see  my  ewes  graze  and  my  lambs  suck.  But 
here  comes  young  Master  Ganymede,  my  new  mistress's  brother." 

Rosalind  came  gayly  along,  reading  aloud  from  a  paper  she  carried  in  her 

hand :  — 

From  the  east  to  western  Ind, 

No  jewel  is  like  Rosalind. 

Her  worth,  being  mounted  on  the  wind, 

Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosalind. 

All  the  pictures,  fairest  lined,1 

Are  but  black  to  Rosalind. 

Let  no  face  be  kept  in  mind, 

But  the  fair  of  Rosalind. 

This  amused  Touchstone,  and  he  said  mockingly,  "  I  '11  rhyme  you  so  eight 
years  together,  dinners,  and  suppers,  and  sleeping  hours  excepted  :  it  is  the  right 
butter-women's  [trot]  to  market." 

Rosalind.    Out,  fool! 
Touchstone.   For  a  taste :  — 

"  If  a  hart  do  lack  a  hind, 

Let  him  seek  out  Rosalind. 

If  the  cat  will  after  kind, 

So,  be  sure,  will  Rosalind. 

1  Drawn. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  ny 

They  that  reap  must  sheaf  and  bind ; 
Then  to  cart  with  Rosalind. 
Sweetest  nut  hath  sourest  rind; 
Such  a  nut  is  Rosalind. 
He  that  sweetest  rose  will  find, 
[Rumty  tumty]  Rosalind." 

This  is  the  very  false  gallop  of 
verses  :  why  do  you  infect a  yourself 
with  them  ? 

Rosalind.  Peace,  you  dull  fool !  I 
found  them  on  a  tree. 

Touchstone.  Truly,  the  tree  yields 
bad  fruit. 

While  Touchstone  and  Rosalind 
were  talking,  Celia  appeared,  with  a 
paper  in  her  hand  also,  which  she 
read  aloud  as  she  walked.  This 
proved  to  be  another  poem  in 
praise  of  Rosalind,  evidently  by  the  tff 
same  unknown  hand,  and,  like  the 
first,  torn  from  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  to  which  it  had  been  fastened.  Through  many 
lines  it  dwelt  upon  the  beauty  and  the  virtues  of  this  wonderful  lady,  comparing 
her  with  all  the  famous  women  that  had  ever  appeared  in  history.  So  full  of 
earnest  words  was  it  that  Rosalind,  coming  forward  to  her  cousin,  laughed,  and 
likened  it  to  preaching. 

"  O  most  gentle  pulpiter  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  with  what  tedious  homily  of  love 
have  you  wearied  your  parishioners,  without  ever  saying,  Have  patience,  good 
people!" 

As  the  two  cousins  merrily  looked  over  the  paper  together,  Touchstone  and 
Corin  drew  near  with  a  natural  curiosity.  But  Celia  had  picked  up  some  knowl- 
edge about  the  authorship  of  these  verses,  which  she  wished  to  impart  to  Rosalind 
privately,  so  she  turned  good-naturedly  to  the  men,  and  said,  — 

"  How  now?  back,  friends. —  Shepherd,  go  off  a  little  :  — go  with  him,  sirrah." 

"Come,  shepherd,"  said  Touchstone,  "let  us  make  an  honorable  retreat; 
though  not  with  bag  and  baggage,  yet  with  scrip  and  scrippage." 

After  they  were  gone,  Celia  turned  to  her  cousin,  and  asked,  — 

Didst  thou  hear  these  verses  ? 

Rosalind.  O,  yes,  I  heard  them  all,  and  more  too  ;  for  some  of  them  had  in  them 
more  feet  than  the  verses  would  bear. 

Celia.   That 's  no  matter:  the  feet  might  bear  the  verses. 

a  Touchstone  speaks  as  if  such  poetry  were  like  a  contagious  disease  —  to  be  avoided. 


Il8  SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 

Rosalind.  Ay,  but  the  feet  were  lame,  and  could  not  bear  themselves  without  the 
verse,  and  therefore  stood  lamely  in  the  verse. 

Celia.  But  didst  thou  hear  without  wondering  how  thy  name  should  be  hanged 
and  carved  upon  these  trees  ? 

Rosalind.  I  was  seven  of  the  nine  days  out  of  the  wonder,  before  you  came ;  for 
look  here  what  I  found  on  a  palm-tree.     [Showing  another  paper.] 

Celia.    [Can  you  guess]  who  hath  done  this  ? 

Rosalind.    Is  it  a  man  ? 

Celia  [nodding  her  head].  —  And  a  chain,  that  you  once  wore,  about  his  neck. 
Change  you  color  ? 

Rosalind.    I  pr'ythee,  who  ? 

Celia.  O  lord,  lord  !  it  is  a  hard  matter  for  friends  to  meet  ;  but  mountains  may  be 
removed  with  earthquakes,  and  so  [they  may]  encounter. 

Rosalind.    Nay,  but  who  is  it  ? 

Celia  [teasing  her].    Is  it  possible  ? 

Rosalind.  Nay,  I  pr'ythee  now  with  most  petitionary  vehemence,  tell  me  who 
it  is. 

Celia  [still  teasing].  O,  wonderful,  wonderful,  and  most  wonderful  wonderful !  and 
yet  again  wonderful,  and  after  that,  out  of  all  whooping  ! 

Rosalind.  My  good  [perplexer] !  dost  thou  think,  though  I  am  caparisoned  *  like 
a  man,  I  have  a  doublet  and  hose  in  my  disposition  ?  I  pr'ythee  tell  me  who  it  is 
quickly  ;  and  speak  apace. 

Celia.  It  is  young  Orlando,  that  tripped  up  the  wrestler's  heels  and  your  heart, 
both  in  an  instant. 

Rosalind.    Orlando  ? 

Celia.    Orlando. 

Rosalind.  Alas  the  day  !  w"hat  shall  I  do  with  my  doublet  and  hose  ?  —  What  did 
he  when  thou  saw'st  him  ?  What  said  he  ?  How  looked  he  ?  What  [does]  he  here  ? 
Did  he  ask  for  me  ?■  Where  remains  he?  How  parted  he  with  thee,  and  when  shalt 
thou  see  him  again  ?     Answer  me  in  one  word. 

Celia.  You  must  borrow  me  Gargantua'sa  mouth  first:  'tis  a  word  too  great  for 
any  mouth  of  this  age's  size. 

Rosalind.  But  doth  he  know  that  I  am  in  this  forest,  and  in  man's  apparel  ?  Looks 
he  as  freshly  as  he  did  the  day  he  wrestled  ? 

Celia.  I  found  him  under  a  tree,  like  a  dropped  acorn.  There  he  lay  stretched 
along,  like  a  wounded  knight.     He  was  furnished  like  a  hunter. 

Rosalind.    O,  ominous  !  he  comes  to  kill  my  heart  ! 

Celia.    I  would  sing  my  song  without  a  [chorus]  :  thou  [puttest]  me  out  of  tune. 

Rosalind.  Do  you  not  know  I  am  a  woman  ?  When  I  think,  I  must  speak. 
Sweet,  say  on. 

Meanwhile  Orlando  and  Jaques  had  been  holding  a  sharp  discussion  as  they 
sauntered  idly  through  the  woods,  —  a  habit  which  had  become  quite  common 

1  Dressed. 
a  A  famous  giant,  who  crammed  into  his  mouth  five  pilgrims  at  once. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT 


II9 


with  Orlando  since  he  had  joined  the  party  of  the  banished  Duke.     While  the 
cousins  were  talking  thus  earnestly  about  Orlando,  they  saw  him  coming. 

The  young  ladies  did  not  wish  to  be  discovered  just  then,  so  they  withdrew 
still  farther  into  the  shadow  of  the  woods.  Jaques  and  Orlando  went  on  with  their 
sharp  exchange  of  words  and  wit. 

Celia.    Soft  !   Comes  he  not  here  ? 

Rosalind.    'Tishe:  slink  by,  and  note  him.  [They  retire. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Jaques,  talking  as  they  enter. 

Jaques.  I  thank  you  for  your  company  ;  but,  good  faith,  I  had  as  lief  have  been 
myself  alone. 

Orlando.  And  so  had  I ;  but  yet,  for  fashion  sake,  I  thank  you  too  for  your 
society. 

Jaques.    Good  bye,  you  :  let 's  meet  as  little  as  we  can. 

Orlando.    I  do  desire  we  may  be  better  strangers. 

Jaques.    I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  trees  with  writing  love-songs  in  their  barks. 

Orlando.    I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  of  my  verses  with  reading  them  [badly], 

Jaques.    Rosalind  is  your  love's  name  ? 

Orlando.    Yes,  just. 

Jaques.    I  do  not  like  her  name. 

Orlando.    There  was  no  thought  of  pleasing  you,  when  she  was  christened. 

Jaques.    What  stature  is  she  of  ? 

Orlando.    Just  as  high  as  my  heart. 

Jaques.  You  are  full  of  pretty  answers.  —  Will  you  sit  down  with  me  ?  and  we  two 
will  rail  against  our  mistress  the  world,  and  all  our  misery. 

Orlando.  I  will  chide  no  breather  in  the  world,  but  myself,  against  whom  I  know 
most  faults. 

Jaques.    The  worst  fault  you  have  is  to  be  in  love. 

Orlando.    'Tis  a  fault  I  will  not  change  for  your  best  virtue.     I  am  weary  of  you. 

Jaques.    By  my  troth,  I  was  seeking  for  a  fool  when  I  found  you. 

Orlando.    He  is  drowned  in  the  brook  :  look  but  in.  and  you  shall  see  him. 

Jaques.    I'll  tarry  no  longer  with  you.     Farewell,  good  Signior  Love. 

Orlando.    I  am  glad  of  your  departure.     Adieu,  good  Monsieur  Melancholy. 

Orlando  was  not  sorry  to  have  the  sour,  melancholy  Jaques  disappear,  and  you 
may  be  sure  Rosalind  and  Celia  were  delighted  to  have  a  chance  of  speaking  to 
their  handsome  young  acquaintance.  Rosalind  had  no  fear  of  being  discovered 
in  her  disguise ;  so  she  determined  to  play  the  part  of  a  pert,  saucy  boy.  She 
came  swaggering  up  to  Orlando,  with  a  jaunty,  careless  air,  and  speaking  to  him  as 
if  he  had  been  a  woodsman,  said,  — 

Do  you  hear,  forester  ? 

Orlando.   Very  well  :   what  would  you  ? 

Rosalind.    I  pray  you,  what  is  't  o'clock  ? 

Orlando.    You  should  ask  me,  what  time  o'  day  :   there  's  no  clock  in  the  forest. 

Rosalind.  Then,  there  is  no  true  lover  in  the  forest ;  else  sighing  every  minute, 
and  groaning  every  hour,  would  detect  the  lazy  foot  of  time  as  well  as  a  clock. 


120 


SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 


Orlando.    Where  dwell  you,  pretty  youth  ? 

Rosalind.  With  this  shepherdess,  my  sister  ;  here  in  the  skirts  of  the  forest,  like 
fringe  upon  a  petticoat. 

Orlando.  Are  you  native  of  this 
place  ? 

Rosalind.  As  the  coney,  that  you 
see  dwell  where  she  is  [born]. 

Orlando.  Your  accent  is  some- 
thing finer  than  you  could  purchase 
in  so  [secluded]  a  dwelling. 

Rosalind.  I  have  been  told  so  of 
many  :  but,  indeed,  an  old  religious 
uncle  of  mine  taught  me  to  speak, 
who  was  in  his  youth  an  inland 
man ; a  one  that  knew  court  [life]  too 
well,  for  there  he  fell  in  love.  I 
have  heard  him  read  many  lectures 
against  it ;  and  I  thank  God  I  am 
not  a  woman,  to  be  touched  with  so 
many  giddy  offences  as  he  hath  gen- 
erally taxed  their  whole  sex  with. 

Orlando.   Can  you  remember  any 
of  the  principal  evils  that  he  laid  to 
the  charge  of  women  ? 
Rosalind.    There  were  none  principal  :  they  were  all  like  one  another,  as  half- 
pence are  ;  every  one  fault  seeming  monstrous,  till  his  fellow  fault  came  to  match  it. 
Orlando.    I  pr'ythee,  recount  some  of  them. 

Rosalind.  No  ;  I  will  not  cast  away  my  physic,  but  on  those  that  are  sick.  There 
is  a  man  haunts  the  forest,  that  abuses  our  young  plants  with  carving  Rosalind  on  their 
barks ;  hangs  odes  upon  hawthorns,  and  elegies  on  brambles ;  all,  forsooth,  deifying 
the  name  of  Rosalind :  if  I  could  meet  that  fancy-monger,  I  would  give  him  some  good 
counsel,  for  he  seems  to  have  the  [very  ague]  of  love  upon  him. 

Orlando.    I  am  he  that  is  so  love-shaked.     I  pray  you,  tell  me  your  remedy. 
Rosalind.    There  is  none  of  my  uncle's  marks  upon  you  :  he  taught  me  how  to 
know  a  man  in  love  :  in  which  cage  of  rushes,  I  am  sure,  you  are  not  prisoner. 
Orlando.    What  were  his  marks  ? 

Rosalind.  A  lean  cheek,  which  you  have  not ;  a  [dark]  and  sunken  eye,  which  you 
have  not ;  an  [unsociable]  spirit,  which  you  have  not ;  a  beard  neglected,  which  you 
have  not :  —but  I  pardon  you  for  that,  for  [what  you  have]  in  beard  is  simply  a  younger 
brother's  revenue.0  —  Then,  your  hose  should  be  ungartered,  your  bonnet  unbanded, 
your  sleeve  unbuttoned,  your  shoe  untied,  and  everything  about  you  [showing]  a  care- 


a  An  inland  mci7t  was  probably  one,  who  having  lived  away  from  the  coast,  where  the 
society  was  ruder,  might  be  supposed  to  possess  some  refinement. 

b  A  younger  brother's  revenue,  according  to  English  law,  is  generally  very  little.  Here, 
while  Rosalind  playfully  taunts  Orlando  on  the  lightness  of  his  beard,  she  hits  also  on  his 
private  history  and  fortunes,  of  which  he  never  suspects  she  can  know  anything. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  121 

less  desolation.     But  you  are  no  such  man  ;  you  are  rather  [a  dandy  in  your  dress]  ; 
as  loving  yourself,  than  seeming  the  lover  of  any  other. 

Orlando.    Fair  youth,  I  would  I  could  make  thee  believe  I  love. 

Rosalind.  Me  believe  it  ?  you  may  as  soon  make  her  that  you  love  believe  it ; 
which,  I  warrant,  she  is  apter  to  do  than  to  confess  she  does  ;  that  is  one  of  the  points 
in  which  women  [always]  give  the  lie  to  their  consciences.  But,  in  [real  truth],  are 
you  he  that  hangs  the  verses  on  the  trees,  wherein  Rosalind  is  so  admired  ? 

Orlando.  I  swear  to  thee,  youth,  by  the  white  hand  of  Rosalind,  I  am  that  he, 
that  unfortunate  he. 

Rosalind.    But  are  you  so  much  in  love  as  your  rhymes  speak  ? 

Orlando.    Neither  rhyme  nor  reason  can  express  how  much. 

Rosalind.  Love  is  merely  a  madness,  and,  I  tell  you,  deserves  as  well  a  dark 
house  and  a  whip,  as  madmen  do  ;  a  and  the  reason  why  they  are  not  so  punished  and 
cured  is,  that  the  lunacy  is  so  ordinary  that  the  whippers  are  in  love  too.  Yet  I  pro- 
fess curing  it  by  counsel. 

Orlando.    Did  you  ever  cure  any  so  ? 

Rosalind.  Yes,  one;  and  in  this  manner.  He  was  to  imagine  me  his  love,  his 
mistress,  and  I  set  him  every  day  to  woo  me:  at  which  time  would  I,  being  but  a 
moonish  youth,  grieve,  be  [soft],  changeable,  longing,  and  liking ;  proud,  shallow,  in- 
constant, full  of  tears,  full  of  smiles  ;  for  every  passion  something,  and  for  no  passion 
truly  anything  ;  would  now  like  him,  now  loathe  him  ;  now  weep  for  him,  then  spit  at 
him  ;  that  I  drove  my  suitor  from  his  mad  humor  of  love.  And  thus  I  cured  him ;  and 
this  way  will  I  take  upon  me  to  wash  your  liver "  as  clean  as  a  sound  sheep's  heart,  that 
there  shall  not  be  one  spot  of  love  in  it. 

Orlando.    I  would  not  be  cured,  youth. 

Rosalind.  I  would  cure  you,  if  you  would  but  call  me  Rosalind,  and  come  every 
day  to  my  cote,  and  woo  me. 

Orlando.    Now,  by  the  faith  of  my  love,  I  will.     Tell  me  where  it  is. 

Rosalind.  Go  with  me  to  it,  and  I  '11  show  it  you ;  and,  by  the  way,  you  shall  tell 
me  where  in  the  forest  you  live.     Will  you  go  ? 

Orlando.    With  all  my  heart,  good  youth. 

Rosalind.    Nay,  you  must  call  me  Rosalind.  —  Come,  sister,  will  you  go  ? 

Orlando  was  rather  pleased  with  the  idea  of  even  playing  at  making  love  to 
his  beautiful  Rosalind,  and  without  delay  followed  Ganymede  and  Aliena  to  the 
cottage. 

As  they  walked  off  together,  Touchstone  made  his  appearance  with  a  young 
woman  ;  and  Jaques,  who  always  liked  to  watch  other  people  and  give  his  advice 
about  what  they  should  or  should  not  do,  was  not  far  off. 

Not  to  be  out  of  the  fashion,  Touchstone  also  had  found  in  the  Forest  of  Arden 
a  lady-love  in  the  person  of  Audrey,  a  goat-tender ;  an  honest,  kindly  soul,  igno- 
rant of  anything  beyond  her  daily  task ;  homely,  awkward,  and  silly  enough  to 


a  This  was  the  way  in  which  lunatics  were  usually  treated  in  Shakespeare's  time. 
b  The  liver  used  to  be  regarded  as  the  seat  of  love. 


122 


SHAKESPEARE    FOR    THE    YOUNG    FOLK. 


think  Touchstone  the  wisest  and  handsomest  man  in  the  world.  Touchstone  had 
promised  to  marry  her,  and  told  her  that  Sir  Oliver  Mar-text,  the  vicar  of  the  next 
village,  would  meet  them  in  the  forest  at  that  very  place  and  marry  them.  In  fact, 
just  then  Sir  Oliver  arrived. 

Audrey  made  no  objection,  but  Jaques,  who  had  overheard  the  conversation, 
told  Touchstone  that  it  was  a  disgrace  for  a  man  of  his  breeding  to  be  married 
under  a  bush  like  a  beggar.  Touchstone  was  ready  to  listen  to  reason,  and  quite 
willing  to  go  to  church  and  be  married  properly.  Jaques  offered  to  give  away 
the  bride,  so  the  queer  wedding-party  went  off  together  in  search  of  the  nearest 
chapel. 


IX. 

Act  III.     Scenes  4,  5. 

^^B^f"*  N  another  part  of  the  wood,  at  the  door  of  a  rude  but  pretty  cot- 
tage, were  sitting  our  two  young  ladies,  one  in  lad's  clothes, 
with  her  head  bowed  in  her  hands,  the  other  looking  at  her 
with  a  roguish  expression  of  countenance,  as  though  she  had 
just  been  giving  her  boy-sister  a  good-natured  scolding.  Here 
was  serious  trouble.  Orlando  had  promised  to  call  at  an 
appointed  time ;  it  was  now  a  whole  hour  later,  and  he  had 
not  made  his  appearance  !  Can  we  wonder  that  Rosalind  was  in  tears?  In  vain 
were  the  remonstrances  of  the  amused  Celia.     She  only  retorted,  — 

Never  talk  to  me  ;  I  will  weep. 

Celia.    Do,  I  pr'ythee ;  but  yet  have  the  grace  to  consider  that  tears  do  not  become 
a  man. 

Rosalind.    But  have  I  not  cause  to  weep  ? 

Celia.    As  good  cause  as  one  would  desire  ;  therefore  weep. 

Rosalind.    His  very  hair  is  of  the  dissembling  color. 

Celia.    Something  browner  than  Judas's.a 

Rosalind. » In  faith,  his  hair  is  of  an  excellent  color. 

Celia.    An  excellent  color :   chestnut  was  ever  the  only  color. 

Rosalind.    But  why  did  he  swear  he  would  come  this  morning,  and  comes  not  ? 

Celia.    Nay,  certainly,  there  is  no  truth  in  him. 

Rosalind.    Do  you  think  so  ? 

Celia.    Yes  ;  I  think  he  is  not  a  pick-purse  nor  a  horse-stealer;  but,  for  his  [truth] 
in  love,  I  do  think  him  as  [hollow]  as  a  covered  goblet  or  a  worm-eaten  nut. 

Rosalind.    Not  true  in  love  ? 

Celia.    Yes,  when  he  is  in;  but  I  think  he  is  not  in. 

Rosalind.    You  have  heard  him  swear  downright  he  was. 

Celia.    Was  is  not  is :  besides,  the  oath  of  a  lover  is  no  stronger  than  the  word  of 
a  tapster.     He  attends  here  in  the  forest  on  the  Duke  your  father. 


Judas  was  represented  in  old  paintings  and  tapestry  with  reddish  hair  and  beard. 


124         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Rosalind.  I  met  the  Duke  yesterday,  and  had  much  [talk]  with  him  :  he  asked 
me  of  what  parentage  I  was ;  I  told  him,  of  as  good  as  he  ;  so  he  laughed,  and  let  me 
go.     But  what  talk  we  of  fathers,  when  there  is  such  a  man  as  Orlando  ? 

Celia.  O,  that 's  a  brave  man !  he  writes  brave  verses,  speaks  brave  words,  swears 
brave  oaths,  and  breaks  them  bravely:  but  all's  brave  that  youth  mounts  and  folly 
guides.  —  Who  comes  here  ? 

It  was  old  Corin,  the  feeder,  who  said,  as  he  entered,  "  Mistress  and  master, 
you  have  often  inquired  about  young  Silvius  and  the  shepherdess  he  is  in  love 
with.  •  As  you  seem  to  take  an  interest  in  the  youth,  I  will  lead  you,  if  you  like, 
where  you  may  see  how  true  love  may  be  treated  by  scorn  and  proud  disdain." 
So  they  all  repaired  to  a  shady  nook  in  the  forest,  where,  themselves  unseen, 
they  could  witness  an  interview  between  the  lovelorn  shepherd  and  the  black- 
eyed,  red-cheeked  Phebe. 

"Sweet  Phebe,  do  not  scorn  me,"  pleaded  the  poor  fellow;  "say  that  you 
love  me  not,  but  say  not  so  in  bitterness." 

"  O,  for  shame,  for  shame,"  said  the  scornful  maiden,  "to  pretend  that  mine 
eyes  have  pierced  thee  !  Now  I  do  frown  on  thee  with  all  my  heart ;  and  if  mine 
eyes  can  wound,  why  dost  thou  not  fall  down?  " 

"  Ah,  Phebe  dear,"  said  Silvius,  "  if  ever  in  the  future  you  feel  the  power  of 
love,  then  you  will  know  how  keen,  although  invisible,  are  the  wounds  that  are 
made  by  its  arrows." 

"When  that  time  comes,"  she  answered,  "I  will  not  ask  thy  pity ;  and  until 
it  comes,  I  certainly  shall  not  pity  thee." 

This  unfeeling  speech  was  too  much  for  Rosalind  to  bear  :  she  broke  from 
her  hiding-place,  and  rated  the  saucy  maiden  soundly. 

"And  who  are  you,  I  pray  you?"  she  began;  "and  who  might  be  your 
mother,  that  you  thus  insult  the  wretched?  I  see  no  such  wondrous  beauty  in 
you  that  you  should  presume  to  be  so  proud  and  pitiless."  But  just  here  she 
remarked  the  fixed  gaze  and  heightened  color  of  the  shepherdess,  and  knew  in  a 
moment  that  the  silly  little  thing  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  handsome  youth  who 
was  so  severely  scolding  her.  "Why,  what  means  this?"  continued  Rosalind; 
"  why  look  you  so  upon  me  ?  " 

"  Sweet  youth,"  said  Phebe,  "  I  pray  you,  chide  me  so  a  year  together :  I  had 
rather  hear  you  chide  than  this  man  woo." 

"  I  pray  you,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  me,"  retorted  Rosalind. 

'T  is  not  your  inky  brows,  your  black-silk  hair, 

Your  bugle  eyeballs,  nor  your  cheek  of  cream, 

That  can  entame  my  spirits  to  your  worship. — 

You  foolish  shepherd,  wherefore  do  you  follow  her  ? 

You  are  a  thousand  times  a  properer  man 

Than  she  a  woman.  — 

But,  mistress,  know  yourself  :   down  on  your  knees, 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  1 25 

And  thank  Heaven,  fasting,  for  a  good  man's  love  : 
For  I  must  tell  you  friendly  in  your  ear,  — 
Sell  when  you  can  :   you  are  not  for  all  markets  : 
[Beg]  the  man's  [pardon]  ;  love  him. 

—  Shepherd,  ply  her  hard. — 
Come,  sister  ;  to  our  flock. 

Then,  with  Celia,  she  departed,  accompanied  by  Corin,  and  left  Silvius  and 
Phebe  together. 

But  now  a  change  seemed  to  have  come  over  the  spirit  of  the  shepherdess, 
and  when  her  unhappy  lover  timidly  approached  her  again,  she  turned  to  him  with 
a  softened  look,  and  said  gently,  "  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  Silvius."  And  immediately 
after  she  inquired,  "  Know'st  thou  the  youth  that  spoke  to  me  just  now?  "  When 
Silvius  gave  her  the  information  she  sought,  she  began  thus  to  praise  and  to  find 
fault  with  Ganymede  in  the  same  breath  :  — 

Phebe.    Think  not  I  love  him,  though  I  ask  for  him: 
'T  is  but  a  peevish  boy  :  —  yet  he  talks  well  ;  — 
But  what  care  I  for  words  ?  yet  words  do  well, 
When  he  that  speaks  them  pleases  those  that  hear. 
It  is  a  pretty  youth  :  —  not  very  pretty :  — 
But,  sure,  he  's  proud  ;  and  yet  his  pride  becomes  him  : 
He  '11  make  a  proper  man  :  the  best  thing  in  him 
Is  his  complexion ;  and  faster  than  his  tongue 
Did  make  offence,  his  eye  did  heal  it  up. 
He  is  not  tall ;  yet  for  his  years  he  's  tall : 
There  was  a  pretty  redness  in  his  lip, 
A  little  riper  and  more  lusty  red 
Than  that  mixed  in  his  cheek. 

There  be  some  women  [now]  would  have  gone  near 
To  fall  in  love  with  him  ;  but,  for  my  part, 
I  love  him  not,  nor  hate  him  not ;  and  yet 
I  have  more  cause  to  hate  him  than  to  love  him  : 
What  [business]  had  he  to  chide  at  me  ? 
He  said  mine  eyes  were  black,  and  my  hair  black  ; 
And,  now  I  [do  remember],  scorned  at  me  : 
I  marvel  why  I  answered  not  again. 
I  '11  write  to  him  a  very  taunting  letter, 
And  thou  shalt  bear  it ;  wilt  thou,  Silvius  ? 

Silvius.    Phebe,  with  all  my  heart. 

Phebe.  I  '11  write  it  straight ; 

I  will  be  bitter  with  him  and  passing  short. 
Go  with  me,  Silvius. 

And  she  went  off,  planning  a  very  different  letter  from  the  one  she  had 
proposed,  and  poor  Silvius  trotted  after,  like  a  tame  spaniel,  to  do  her  bidding. 


X. 


Act  IV.     Scenes  i,  2. 

'NE  day  Rosalind,  still  in  the  garb  of  Ganymede,  while  walk- 
ing with  Celia  in  the  wood,  met  Jaques,  and  answered  his 
greeting  with  a  merry  air ;  for  the  surly  fellow  had  taken 
a  liking  to  the  pretty  youth,  and  chatted  quite  gayly  for  a 
serious,  worldly-wise  philosopher.  Rosalind  joked  him  about 
his  melancholy,  and  he  told  her  of  his  travels,  and  assured  her 
it  was  his  experience  that  made  him  sad.  "Then,"  said 
Rosalind,  "  I  'd  rather  have  a  fool  to  make  me  merry  than  experience  to  make  me- 
sad ;  and  to  travel  for  it  too  !  " 

While  they  were  thus  engaged,  Orlando  entered.  Of  course  Rosalind,  who 
was  a  very  wide-awake  young  lady,  saw  him  the  moment  he  came  in  sight,  but 
she  was  vexed  with  him  because  he  had  not  kept  his  promise  about  meeting 
her,  and  so  she  did  not  even  look  at  him  till  she  had  finished  a  long  speech  to 
Jaques. 

Orlando  greeted  the  supposed  Ganymede  pleasantly,  as  still  playing  that  the 
lad  was  his  sweetheart.  "  Good  day  and  happiness,  dear  Rosalind,"  he  said. 
But  Rosalind  gave  him  no  answer,  pretending  not  to  hear  him. 

Jaques  had  at  least  learned  by  his  experience  to  know  a  young  lover  when  he 
saw  one,  and  wisely  took  his  leave,  so  that  Rosalind  now  had  no  excuse  for  being 
either  deaf  or  blind ;  she  was  really  glad  to  see  Orlando,  and  not  in  the  least 
surprised,  but  she  pretended  to  be  astonished  to  find  him  so  near  her,  and 
exclaimed,  — 


Why,  how  now,  Orlando  !  where  have  you  been  all  this  while  ?  You  a  lover  ? —  If 
you  serve  me  such  another  trick,  never  come  in  my  sight  more. 

Orlando.    My  fair  Rosalind,  I  come  within  an  hour  of  my  promise. 

Rosalind.  Break  an  hour's  promise  in  love  ?  He  that  will  divide  a  minute  into  a 
thousand  parts,  and  break  but  a  part  of  the  thousandth  part  of  a  minute  in  the  affairs 
of  love,  I  '11  warrant  him  heart-whole. 


AS    YOU 'LIKE    IT. 


127 


Orlando.    Pardon  me,  dear  Rosalind.  •     • 

Rosalind.  Nay,  if  you  be  so  tardy,  come  no  more  in  my  sight;  I  had  as  lief  be 
wooed  by  a  snail. 

Orlando.   By  a  snail  ? 

Rosalind.  Ay,  by  a  snail ;  for  though  he  comes  slowly,  he  carries  his  house  on  his 
head ;  a  better  [fortune],  I  think,  than  you  can  [bring]  a  woman.  Come,  woo  me  woo 
me  ;  for  now  I  am  in  a  holiday  humor,  and  like  enough  to  consent :  —  What  would  you 
say  to  me  now,  if  I  were  your  very  very  Rosalind  ?  —  Am  not  I  your  Rosalind  ? 

Orlando.    I  take  some  joy  to  say  you  are,  because  I  would  be  talking  of  her. 

Rosalind.    Well,  in  her  person,  I  say —  I  will  not  have  you. 

Orlando.    Then,  in  mine  own  person,  I  die. 

Rosalind  {laughing  merrily].  No,  faith,  die  by  attorney.1  The  poor  world  is 
almost  six  thousand  years  old,  and  in  all  this  time  there  was  not  any  man  died  in 
his  own  person;  that  is,  in  a  love-cause.  Men  have  died  from  time  to  time,  and 
worms  have  eaten  them,  but  not  for  love. 

Orlando.  I  would  not  have  my  right  Rosalind  of  this  mind ;  for,  I  protest  her 
frown  might  kill  me. 

Rosalind.  By  this  hand,  it  will  not  kill  a  fly.  But  come,  now  I  will  be  your  Rosa- 
lind in  a  more  [favorable]  disposition;  and  ask  me  what  you  will,  I  will  grant  it. 

Orlando.    Then  love  me,  Rosalind. 

Rosalind.  Yes,  faith  will  I,  Fridays, 
and  Saturdays,  and  all. 

Orlando.   And  wilt  thou  have  me  ? 

Rosalind.    Ay,  and  twenty  such. 

Orlando.    What  sayest  thou  ? 

Rosalind.    Are  you  not  good  ? 

Orlando.    I  hope  so. 

Rosalind.  Why,  then,  can  one  desire 
too  much  of  a  good  thing  ?  —  Come,  sis- 
ter [ttiming  to  Celia],  you  shall  be  the 
priest,  and  marry  us.  —  Give  me  your 
hand,  Orlando  :  — What  do  you  say,  sis- 
ter ? 

Orlando.    Pray  thee,  marry  us. 

Celia.    I  cannot  say  the  words. 

Rosalind.  You  must  begin,  —  "  Will 
you,  Orlando,"  — 

Celia.  [O,  yes.]  —  Will  you,  Orlando, 
have  to  wife  this  Rosalind  ? 

Orlando.    I  will. 
Rosalind.    Ay,  but  when  ? 

Orlando.    Why  now ;  as  fast  as  she  can  marry  us. 

Rosalind.    Then  you  must  say,  —  "I  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for  wife." 

Orlando.    I  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for  wife. 


a  A11  attorney  is  one  who  takes  the  turn  or  place  of  another;  especially  one  who  is 
appointed  by  another  to  act  for  him  in  business  matters,  or  in  a  cause  at  law. 


128  SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE  YOUNG   FOLK. 

Rosalind.  I  might  ask  you  for  your  [license] ;  but  [never  mind],  —  I  do  take  thee, 
Orlando,  for  my  husband. 

Rosalind.    Now  tell  me  how  long  you  would  have  her,  after  you  have  possessed  her. 

Orlando.    Forever  and  a  day. 

Rosalind.  Say  a  day,  without  the  ever.  No,  no,  Orlando  ;  men  are  April  when 
they  woo,  December  when  they  wed  :  maids  are  May  when  they  are  maids,  but  the 
sky  changes  when  they  are  wives.  I  will  be  more  jealous  of  thee  than  a  Barbary  cock- 
pigeon  over  his  hen ;  more  clamorous  than  a  parrot  against  rain ;  more  new-fangled 
than  an  ape  ;  more  giddy  in  my  desires  than  a  monkey :  I  will  weep  for  nothing,  like 
Diana  in  the  fountain,  and  I  will  do  that  when  you  are  disposed  to  be  merry  ;  I  will 
laugh  like  a  hyena,  and  that  when  thou  art  inclined  to  sleep. 

Orlando.    But  will  my  Rosalind  do  so  ? 

Rosalind.   By  my  life,  she  will  do  as  I  do. 

Orlando.    O,  but  she  is  wise. 

Rosalind.  Or  else  she  could  not  have  the  wit  to  do  this :  the  wiser,  the  way- 
warder.  [Bar]  the  doors  upon  a  woman's  wit,  and  it  will  out  at  the  casement ;  shut 
that,  and  't  will  out  at  the  key-hole ;  stop  that,  't  will  fly  with  the  smoke  out  at  the 
chimney. 

But  Orlando  now  remembered  that  he  had  a  duty  to  perform,  and,  stopping  in 
the  midst  of  their  pretty  play  of  wits,  he  said,  — 

For  these  two  hours,  Rosalind,  I  will  leave  thee. 

Rosalind.    Alas,  dear  love,  I  cannot  lack  thee  two  hours. 

Orlando.  I  must  attend  the  Duke  at  dinner  ;  by  two  o'clock  I  will  be  with  thee 
again. 

Rosalind  [pretending  to  weep\  Ay,  go  your  ways,  go  your  ways  ;  —  I  knew  what 
you  would  prove  ;  my  friends  told  me  as  much,  and  I  thought  no  less  :  —  that  flatter- 
ing tongue  of  yours  won  me :  —  't  is  but  one  cast  away,  and  so,  —  come  death.  [Burst- 
ing into  laughter.]  —  Two  o'clock  is  your  hour  ? 

Orlando.    Ay,  sweet  Rosalind. 

Rosalind.  By  my  troth,  and  in  good  earnest,  and  by  all  pretty  oaths  that  are  not 
dangerous,  if  you  break  one  jot  of  your  promise,  or  come  one  minute  behind  the  hour, 
I  will  never  believe  you  more,  I  will  think  you  a  hollow  lover,  and  the  most  unworthy 
of  her  you  call  Rosalind,  that  may  be  chosen  out  of  the  gross  band  of  the  unfaithful. 
Therefore  beware  my  censure  and. keep  your  promise. 

Orlando  promised  again  and  again  to  keep  his  word,  and  return  to  her  as 
faithfully  as  if  she  were  indeed  his  very  Rosalind. 

When  the  youth  was  quite  out  of  hearing,  Celia  told  Rosalind  that  it  was  not 
fair  to  misrepresent  her  sex  by  talking  such  nonsense. 

"  O  coz,  coz,  coz,"  replied  Rosalind,  "  if  thou  didst  know  how  many  fathoms 
deep  I  am  in  love,  —  my  affection  is  as  deep  as  the  bay  of  Portugal  !  I  tell  thee, 
Aliena,  I  cannot  live  out  of  the  sight  of  Orlando  !  I  '11  go  find  a  shade,  and  sigh 
till  he  come." 

"  And  I  '11  go  sleep,"  said  Celia  ;  and  the  cousins  went  each  her  own  way  for  an 
hour  or  two,  until  it  should  be  time  for  Orlando's  return. 


XI. 


Act  IV.     Scene  3. 

I 


WO  o'clock  came,  but  it  brought  no  Orlando.  Celia  was 
inclined  to  tease  Rosalind,  and  said  that  perhaps  Orlando 
had  taken  his  bow  and  arrows,  and  gone  forth  to  —  sleep  ! 
Just  then  Silvius,  the  young  shepherd,  Phebe's  lover, 
entered,  bearing  in  his  hand  the  letter  which  Phebe  had 
written  to  Ganymede.     Approaching  Rosalind,  he  said,  — 


My  errand  is  to  you,  fair  youth. 
My  gentle  Phebe  bid  me  give  you  this. 
I  know  not  the  contents ;  but,  as  I  guess 
By  the  stern  brow,  and  waspish  action, 
Which  she  did  use  as  she  was  writing  it. 
It  bears  an  angry  tenor.     Pardon  me, 
I  am  but  as  a  guiltless  messenger. 

Phebe  had  really  written  a  very  foolish  love-letter  to  Ganymede.  Rosalind 
read  parts  of  it  aloud,  pretending  that  it  was  abusive  and  full  of  harshness  and 
mockery,  but  in  fact  it  was  full  of  the  most  extravagant  praises  and  declarations 
of  love  from  Phebe  to  Ganymede,  so  that  poor  Silvius  could  not  fail  to  see  that 
his  mistress  had  used  him  to  carry  her  love-letter  to  another  man.  Rosalind  told 
Silvius  he  was  foolish  to  love  such  a  cruel,  heartless  shepherdess,  and  do  such 
errands  for  her,  but  if  he  really  insisted  on  loving  such  a  woman,  he  might  say 
this  to  her :  "  If  she  love  me,  I  charge  her  to  love  thee ;  if  she  will  not,  I  will 
never  have  her  unless  thou  entreat  for  her.  Go  now,  without  another  word," 
she  added,  "  for  here  comes  some  one." 

As  Silvius  went  off,  a  man  presented  himself,  who  proved  to  be  Orlando's 
elder  brother  Oliver,  —  he  who  had  been  so  cruel  and  hard,  and  who  had  driven 
Orlando  to  exile  himself  in  this  forest. 


i-;o 


SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 


"  Good  morrow,  fair  ones,"  said 
he,  courteously,  and  went  on  to  in- 
quire if  they  could  direct  him  to  a 
certain  sheep-cote,  fenced  about  with 
olive-trees,  somewhere  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  forest.  They  told  him 
how  to  find  it :  it  was  their  own  cot- 
tage. He  then  recognized  that  they 
were  the  brother  and  sister  who 
lived  in  the  house,  and  whom  he 
was  seeking ;  and  as  they  admitted 
the  fact,  he  said,  — 


Orlando  doth  commend  him  to  you  both  ; 

And  to  that  youth  he  calls  his  Rosalind 

He  sends  this  bloody  napkin.  —  Are  you  he  ? 

Rosali7id.    I  am  :   what  must  we  understand  by  this  ? 

Oliver.   When  last  the  young  Orlando  parted  from  you, 
He  left  a  promise  to  return  again 
Within  an  hour  ;  and,  pacing  through  the  forest, 
Lo,  what  befell  !  he  threw  his  eye  aside, 
And,  mark,  what  object  did  present  itself  : 
Under  an  oak,  whose  boughs  were  mossed  with  age. 
And  high  top  bald  with  dry  antiquity, 
A  wretched  ragged  man,  o'ergrown  with  hair, 
Lay  sleeping  on  his  back  :  about  his  neck 
A  green  and  gilded  snake  had  wreathed  itself, 
Who  with  her  head,  nimble  in  threats,  approached 
The  opening  of  his  mouth ;  but  suddenly, 
Seeing  Orlando,  it  unlinked  itself, 
And  with  indented  glides  did  slip  away 
Into  a  bush  ;  under  which  bush's  shade 
A  lioness,  with  udders  all  drawn  dry, 
Lay  couching,  head  on  ground,  with  cat-like  watch, 
When  that  the  sleeping  man  should  stir  ;  for  't  is 
The  royal  disposition  of  that  beast 
To  prey  on  nothing  that  doth  seem  as  dead. 
This  seen,  Orlando  did  approach  the  man, 
And  found  it  was  his  brother,  his  elder  brother. 

Celia.    O,  I  have  heard  him  speak  of  that  same  brother  ; 
And  he  [reported]  him  the  most  unnatural 
That  lived  'mongst  men. 

Oliver.  And  well  he  might  so  do, 

For  well  I  know  he  was  unnatural. 

Rosalind.    6ut,  to  Orlando.  —  Did  he  leave  him  there, 
Food  to  the  sucked  and  hungry  lioness? 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  131 

Oliver.    Twice  did  he  turn  his  back,  and  purposed  so; 
But  kindness,  nobler  ever  than  revenge, 
Made  him  give  battle  to  the  lioness, 
Who  quickly  fell  before  him  :  in  which  [battling] 
From  miserable  slumber  I  awaked. 

Celia.    Are  you  his  brother  ? 

Rosalind.  Was  it  you  he  rescued? 

Celia.   Was  't  you  that  did  so  oft  contrive  to  kill  him  ? 

Oliver.    'T  was  I ;  but  't  is  not  I.     I  do  not  shame 
To  tell  you  what  I  was,  since  my  conversion 
So  sweetly  tastes,  being  the  thing  I  am. 

Rosalind.    But,  for  the  bloody  napkin  ?  — 

Oliver.  By-and-by. 

When  from  the  first  to  last,  betwixt  us  two, 
Tears  our  recountments  had  most  kindly  bathed, 
As,  how  I  came  into  that  desert  place  ;  — 
In  brief,  he  led  me  to  the  gentle  Duke, 
Who  gave  me  fresh  array  and  entertainment, 
Committing  me  unto  my  brother's  love  ; 
Who  led  me  instantly  unto  his  cave, 
There  stripped  himself;  and  here,  upon  his  arm, 
•  The  lioness  had  torn  some  flesh  away. 
Which  all  this  while  had  bled  ;  and  now  he  fainted, 
And  cried,  in  fainting,  upon  Rosalind. 
Brief,  I  recovered  him  ;  bound  up  his  wound  ; 
And,  after  some  small  space,  being  strong  at  heart, 
He  sent  me  hither,  stranger  as  I  am, 
To  tell  this  story,  that  you  might  excuse 
His  broken  promise  ;  and  to  give  this  napkin, 
Dyed  in  his  blood,  unto  the  shepherd  youth 
That  he  in  sport  doth  call  his  Rosalind. 

Rosalind  had  listened  eagerly  to  Oliver's  story.  The  thought  of  poor  Orlando, 
wounded  and  bleeding,  was  too  much  for  her  woman's  heart,  and  at  the  sight  of  the 
napkin,  stained,  as  she  now  knew,  with  his  blood,  in  spite  of  her  man's  dress  and  her 
boasted  courage,  she  fainted,  and  would  have  fallen,  had  not  Celia  caught  her  in 
her  loving  arms,  exclaiming,  "  Why,  how  now,  Ganymede  !  sweet  Ganymede  !  " 

"  Many  will  swoon  when  they  do  look  on  blood,"  said  Oliver. 

"  There  is  more  in  it,"  cried  Celia  in  terror.  —  '■'  Cousin  !  —  Ganymede  !  " 

At  the  sound  of  Celia's  voice  Rosalind  stirred  and  opened  her  eyes,  whispering 
faintly,  "  I  would  I  were  at  home." 

"We  '11  lead  you  thither,"  answered  Celia  tenderly  ;  and  turning  to  Oliver  she 
said,  "  I  pray  you,  will  you  take  him  by  the  arm?" 

As  they  went,  Oliver  tried  to  arouse  Ganymede's  spirit  with  a  little  good- 
humored  raillery.     Said  he,  — 


132         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Be  of  good  cheer,  youth.  —  You  a  man  !  —  You  lack  a  man's  heart. 

Rosalind.  I  do  so,  I  confess  it.  Ah,  sir  !  a  body  would  think  this  was  well 
counterfeited.  I  pray  you,  tell  your  brother  how  well  I,  counterfeited.  Heigho ! 
[  With  a  deep  sigh.~\ 

Oliver.  This  was  not  counterfeit  :  there  is  too  great  testimony  in  your  complexion, 
that  it  was  a  [feeling]  of  earnest. 

Rosalind.    Counterfeit,  I  assure  you. 

Oliver.    Well  then,  take  a  good  heart,  and  counterfeit  to  be  a  man. 

Rosalind.    So  I  do  ;  but,  in  faith,  1  should  have  been  a  woman  by  right. 

Celia.  Come,  you  look  paler  and  paler  :  pray  you,  draw  homewards.  —  Good  sir, 
go  with  us. 

Oliver.  That  will  I,  for  I  must  bear  answer  back  how  you  excuse  my  brother, 
Rosalind. 

Rosalind.  I  shall  devise  something:  but,  I  pray  you,  commend  my  counterfeiting 
to  him.  —  Will  you  go  ?    ■ 

And  Oliver  accompanied  them  to  their  cottage  before  returning  to  report  matters 
to  Orlando. 


XII. 


Act  V.     Scenes  i,  2,  4. 


HE  last  we  saw  of  Touchstone  and  Audrey,  they  had  started 
off  in  search  of  a  chapel  and  a  priest.  They  wandered  a 
long  time  in  vain,  till  Audrey's  patience  was  nearly  ex- 
hausted. As  they  were  dragging  rather  wearily  along,  a  young 
country  fellow,  named  William,  joined  them.  This  gave 
Touchstone  a  chance  to  show  off  his  wit  and  wisdom  at  the 
expense  of  the  country  clown,  who  fancied  he  had  some 
claim  upon  Audrey.  That  young  woman  had  no  eyes  for  him,  however,  now  that 
she  had  so  fine  a  gentleman  for  a  lover  as  Touchstone  appeared  to  be. 

As  William  approached,  and  stood  grinning  and  bowing,  with  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  the  Court  Fool  assumed  an  air  of  superiority,  and  said  :  — 

It  is  meat  and  drink  to  me  to  see  a  clown  :  by  my  troth,  we  that  have  °-0od  wits 
have  much  to  answer  for:  we  [have  to  be  mocking];  we  cannot  hold  [in].  —  Good 
evening,  gentle  friend.  [  To  William.]  Cover  thy  head,  cover  thy  head  ;  nay,  pr'ythee, 
be  covered.     How  old  are  you,  friend? 

William.    Five-and-twenty,  sir. 

Touchstone.    A  ripe  age.     Is  thy  name  William  ? 

William.    William,  sir. 

Touchstone.    A  fair  name.     Wast  born  i'  the  forest  here? 

William.    Ay,  sir,  I  thank  God. 

Touchstone.  Thank  God;  — a  good  answer.  \_With  lofty  condescension.}  Art 
rich  ? 

William.    Faith,  sir,  so-so. 

Touchstone.  So-so  is  good,  very  good,  very  excellent  good  :  —  and  yet  it  is  not ;  it 
is  but  so-so.     Art  thou  wise  ? 

William.    Ay,  sir,  I  have  a  pretty  wit." 

Touchstone.    Why,  thou   say'st    well.     I   do  now  remember  a  saying,    The  fool 


"  Wit  and  wisdom  were  nearly  the  same  in  our  author's  time. 


134  SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 

doth  think  he  is  wise;  but  the  wise  man  knows  himself  to  be  a  fool.  The  heathen 
philosopher,  when  he  had  a  desire  to  eat  a  grape,  would  open  his  lips  when  he  put  it 
into  his  mouth ;  meaning  thereby,  that  grapes  were  made  to  eat,  and  lips  to  open. 
You  do  love  this  maid  ? 

William.    I  do,  sir. 

Touchstone.   Give  me  your  hand.     Art  thou  learned  ? 

Williajn.    No,  sir. 

Touchstone.  Then  learn  this  of  me  :  To  have,  is  to  have ;  for  it  is  a  figure  in 
rhetoric,  that  drink,  being  poured  out  of  a  cup  into  a  glass,  by  filling  the  one  doth 
empty  the  other  ;  for  all  your  writers  do  consent  that  ipse  is  he  :  now,  you  are  not 
ipse,  for  I  am  he. 

Williatn  [very  much  puzzled] .  Which  he,  sir  ? 

Touchstone.  He,  sir,  that  must  marry  this  woman.  Therefore,  you  clown,  aban- 
don—  which  is  in  the  vulgar  leave  —  the  society  —  which  in  the  boorish  is  company 
—  of  this  female,  — which  in  the  common  is  woman  ;  which  together  is,  abandon  the 
society  of  this  female  ;  or  [advancing  upon  him  with  louder  and  louder  voice~\,  clown, 
thou  perishest ;  or,  to  thy  better  understanding,  diest;  to  wit,  I  kill  thee,  make  thee 
away,  translate  thy  life  into  death,  thy  liberty  into  bondage.  I  will  deal  in  poison 
with  thee,  or  in  bastinado,  or  in  steel ;  I  will  [fight  against  thee  with  conspiracy]  ;  I 
will  [confound  thee  with  cunning]  ;  I  will  kill  thee  a  hundred  and  fifty  ways :  therefore 
tremble,  and  depart. 

Poor  Audrey  shook  in  her  shoes  at  these  terrible  and  mysterious  words,  and 
she  begged  her  former  sweetheart  to  retire.  He,  poor  fellow,  was  nothing  loth ; 
and,  staying  but  a  moment  to  recover  from  the  bucketful  of  words  which  had  been 
emptied  on  him,  he  shut  up  his  wondering  mouth,  put  on  his  hat,  and  hastily 
retreated. 

In  still  another  part  of  the  forest  the  two  now  happily  reconciled  brothers 
were  walking  and  talking  together,  and  Oliver  was  telling  Orlando  about  his  visit 
to  the  cottage,  and  all ,  that  had  happened  there  when  he  told  the  story  of 
Orlando's  mishap.  There  must  have  been  something  good  and  lovable  about 
Oliver,  in  spite  of  his  former  unkindness  to  Orlando  ;  for,  as  it  appeared  from  his 
story,  he  not  only  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  charming  young  shepherdess  (as  he 
believed  Celia  to  be),  but  also  in  that  single  interview  had  won  her  love  in  return. 
Orlando  was  much  interested  in  it  all,  though  it  seemed  almost  incredible. 

Orlando.  Is  it  possible,  that  on  so  little  acquaintance  you  should  like  her  ?  that, 
but  seeing,  you  should  love  her  ?  and,  loving,  woo  ?  and,  wooing,  she  should  grant  ? 
and  will  you  persevere  [and  marry]  her  ? 

Oliver.  Neither  call  the  giddiness  of  it  in  question,  the  poverty  of  her,  the  small 
acquaintance,  my  sudden  wooing,  nor  her  sudden  consenting ;  but  say  with  me,  I  love 
Aliena  ;  say  with  her,  that  she  loves  me  ;  consent  with  both,  that  we  may  [have]  eacli 
other :  it  shall  be  to  your  good ;  for  my  father's  house,  and  all  the  revenue  that  was 
old  Sir  Rowland's,  will  I  [settle]  upon  you,  and  here  live  and  die  a  shepherd. 

Orlando.    You  have  my  consent.     Let  your  wedding  be  to-morrow  :  thither  will  I 


AS   YOU   LIKE   IT.  I  35 

invite  the  Duke,  and  all  his  contented  followers.     Go  you,  and  prepare  Aliena ;  for, 
look  you,  here  comes  my  Rosalind. 

And  Orlando  advanced  gladly  to  meet  Ganymede,  who,  nevertheless,  spoke  first  to 
the  man  she  cared  least  for,  and  cheerily  said  to  Oliver,  "  God  save  you,  brother." 
"  And  you,  fair  sister,"  answered  Oliver,  as  he  went  away  to  find  his  Aliena,  — 
for  he  addressed  Ganymede  as  a  woman,  either  to  carry  out  his  brother's  little 
play,  or  because  he  had  been  privately  informed  by  Celia  that  the  youth  was 
indeed  to  be  his  sister.     Then  Ganymede  turned  to  Orlando,  and  exclaimed,  — 

O,  my  dear  Orlando,  how  it  grieves  me  to  see  thee  wear  thy  heart  in  a  scarf. 

Orlando.    It  is  my  arm. 

Rosalind.    I  thought  thy  heart  had  been  wounded  with  the  claws  of  a  lion. 

Orlando.    Wounded  it  is,  but  with  the  eyes  of  a  lady. 

Rosalind.  Did  your  brother  tell  you  how  I  counterfeited  to  swoon,  when  he 
showed  me  your  handkerchief? 

Orlando.    Ay,  and  greater  wonders  than  that. 

Rosalind.  O,  I  know  [what  you  mean].  —  Nay,  'tis  true:  there  was  never  any- 
thing so  sudden,  but  Caesar's  brag  of  —  "I  came,  saw,  and  overcame  :  "  a  for  your  brother 
and  my  sister  no  sooner  met,  but  they  looked  ;  no  sooner  looked,  but  they  loved  ;  no 
sooner  loved,  but  they  sighed  ;  no  sooner  sighed,  but  they  asked  one  another  the 
reason  ;  no  sooner  knew  the  reason,  but  they  sought  the  remedy  :  and  in  these  degrees 
have  they  made  a  pair  of  stairs  to  marriage,  which  they  will  climb  [immediately]. 

Orlando.  They  shall  be  married  to-morrow,  and  I  will  bid  the  Duke  to  the  nuptial. 
But,  O,  how  bitter  a  thing  it  is  to  look  into  happiness  through  another  man's  eyes  ! 
By  so  much  the  more  shall  I  to-morrow  be  at  the  height  of  heart-heaviness,  by  how 
much  I  shall  think  my  brother  happy  in  having  what  he  wishes  for. 

Rosalind.    Why  then,  to-morrow  I  cannot  serve  your  turn  for  Rosalind? 

Orlando.    I  can  live  no  longer  by  thinking. 

Rosalind.  I  will  weary  you  then  no  longer  with  idle  talking.  Know  of  me  then 
(for  now  I  speak  to  some  purpose),  that  I  can  do  strange  things.  I  have,  since  I  was  three 
years  old,  [been  familiar]  with  a  magician,  most  profound  in  his  art.  If  you  do  love 
Rosalind  so  near  the  heart  as  your  [action  seems  to  show],  when  your  brother  marries 
Aliena,  you  shall  marry  her.  I  know  into  what  straits  of  fortune  she  is  driven  ;  and  it 
is  not  impossible  to  me  to  set  her  [very  self]  before  your  eyes  to-morrow. 

Orlando.    Speak'st  thou  in  sober  meaning  ? 

Rosalind.  By  my  life,  I  do.  Therefore,  put  you  in  your  best  array,  bid  your 
friends  ;  for,  if  you  will  be  married  to-morrow,  you  shall ;  and  to  Rosalind,  if  you 
will.     Look,  here  comes  a  lover  of  mine,  and  a  lover  of  hers. 

This  referred  to  the  cruel  Phebe  and  her  devoted  slave  Silvius.  Phebe  came 
to  reproach  Ganymede  with  having  shown  the  letter  she  had  written  and  sent  by 
Silvius ;  but  Ganymede  made  light  of  that,  and  said  it  had  been  done  purposely 
to  anger  her  and  turn  her  love  to  Silvius,  who  deserved  it.  Said  Ganymede, 
"  You  are  there  followed  by  a  faithful  shepherd  :  look  upon  him,  love  him ;  he 

a  These  were  the  words  with  which  Caesar  described  the  rapidity  of  one  of  his  victories. 
In  Latin,  Veni,  vidi,  vici. 


136 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 


worships  you."  "Good  shepherd,"  said  Phebe  to  Silvius,  "tell  this  youth  what 
't  is  to  love."  This  Silvius  undertook  to  do  :  whereupon  the  whole  company 
began  to  echo  his  words  with  their  own  experiences  of  the  tender  passion,  until 
Ganymede-Rosalind  broke  in  impatiently,  for  she  had  a  little  mysterious  plan  to 
please  them  all. 

"  Pray  you,  no  more  of  this,"  said  she  ;  "  it  is  like  the  howling  of  wolves  against 
the  moon.  —  Silvius,  I  will  help  you,  if  I  can  :  —  Phebe,  I  would  love  you,  if  I 
could ;  I  will  marry   you,   if  ever   I  marry  woman,  and   I  '11  be   married  to-mor- 


AS   YOU    LIKE    IT. 


137 


row  :  —  Orlando,  I  will  satisfy  you,  if  ever  I  satisfied  man,  and  you  shall  be  married 
to-morrow  :  —  Silvius,  I  will  content  you,  if  what  pleases  you  contents  you,  and 
you  shall  be  married  to-morrow.  —  In  the  name  of  all  your  loves,  I  command  you 
to  meet  me.  — So,  fare  you  well." 

Silvius.    I  '11  not  fail,  if  I  live. 
Phebe.    Nor  I. 
Orlando.    Nor  I. 

The  next  day  the  Duke,  with  the  lord  Amiens  and  the  melancholy  Jaques, 
was  talking  over  the  strange  promises  of  Ganymede  to  Orlando,  while  Oliver 
and  Celia  stood  by.  Just  as  the  Duke  was  expressing  his  doubts,  and  Orlando 
his  hopes  and  fears,  young  Ganymede  appeared,  accompanied  by  Silvius  and 
Phebe,  and,  walking  to  the  centre  of  the  group,  asked  them  all  to  have  patience 
while  the  agreement  she  had  made  with  the  different  parties  was  once  more  clearly 
stated.     Then,  turning  to  the  Duke,  she  asked,  — 

You  say,  if  I  bring  in  your  Rosalind, 
You  will  bestow  her  on  Orlando  here  ? 

Dtike  Senior.    That  would  I,  had  I  kingdoms  to  give  with  her. 

Rosalind.    And  you  [to  Orlando]  say  you  will  have  her  when  I  bring  her  ? 

Orlando.    That  would  I,  were  I  of  all  kingdoms  king. 

Rosalind.   You  \_to  Phebe]  say  you'll  marry  me,  if  I  be  willing? 

Phebe.   That  will  I,  should  I  die  the  hour  after. 

Rosalind.   But  if  you  do  refuse  to  marry  me, 
You  '11  give  yourself  to  this  most  faithful  shepherd  ? 

Phebe.    So  is  the  bargain. 

Rosalind.    And  you  [to  Silvius]  say  that  you  '11  have  Phebe,  if  she  will  ? 

Silvius.    Though  to  have  her  and  death  were  both  one  thing. 

Rosalind.    I  've  promised  to  make  all  this  matter  even. 
Keep  you  your  word,  O  Duke,  to  give  your  daughter  ;  — 
You  yours,  Orlando,  to  receive  his  daughter;  — 
Keep  your  word,  Phebe,  that  you  .'11  marry  me, 
Or  else,  refusing  me,  to  wed  this  shepherd  ;  — 
Keep  your  word,  Silvius,  that  you  '11  marry  her, 
If  she  refuse  me  :  — and  from  hence  I  go, 
To  make  these  doubts  all  even. 

After  thus  thoroughly  puzzling  them  all,  Rosalind  went  away  with  Celia.  The 
Duke,  turning  to  Orlando,  said,  "  This  shepherd  boy  reminds  me  of  my  daughter 
Rosalind." 

"  My  lord,"  answered  Orlando,  "  the  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  him  I  thought 
he  might  be  brother  to  your  daughter ;  but,  my  good  lord,  this  boy  is  forest-born, 
though  highly  educated  by  his  uncle,  a  great  magician  living  in  this  forest." 

All  this  pairing  was  very  amusing  to  Jaques,  and  he  said,  with  a  little  good- 
natured  contempt,  "  There  is  surely  another  flood  coming,  and  these  couples  are 


138         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

coming  to  the  ark."  Then  raising  his  eyes,  he  espied  another  two  approaching, 
and  he  added,  "  Here  comes  a  pair  of  very  strange  beasts,  which  in  all  tongues 
are  called  fools."  These,  of  course,  proved  to  be  our  friend  Touchstone,  with 
Audrey  on  his  arm.  In  another  moment  he  entered  the  circle,  and,  with  a  mag- 
nificent bow,  said,  in  the  highest  style  of  Court  manners,  "  Salutation  and  greet- 
ing to  you  all !  "  Then  Jaques  told  the  Duke  that  this  was  the  motley-minded 
gentleman  that  he  had  so  often  met  in  the  forest,  and  who  swore  that  he  had  been 
a  courtier. 

At  this  Touchstone  spoke  up  with  spirit,  and  said,  — 

If  any  man  doubt  that,  let  him  put  me  to  my  [proof] .  I  have  trod  a  measure  ; a 
I  have  nattered  a  lady ;  I  have  been  politic  with  my  friend,  smooth  with  mine  enemy ; 
I  have  undone  three  tailors  ;  I  have  had  four  quarrels,  and  like  to  have  fought  one. 

Jaques.    And  how  was  that  [made]  up  ? 

Touchstone.    Faith,-  we  met,  and  found  the  quarrel  was  upon  the  Seventh  Cause. 

Jaques.    How  —  Seventh  Cause?  —  Good  my  lordb  [to  the  Duke],  like  this  fellow. 

Dtike  Senior.    I  like  him  very  well. 

Touchstone.  God  [reward]  you,  sir;  I  desire  you  of  the  like.0  I  press  in  here, 
sir,  amongst  the  rest  of  the  country  [couples]. — A  poor  virgin,  sir,  an  ill-favored 
thing,  sir,  but  mine  own  :  a  poor  humor  of  mine,  sir,  to  take  what  no  man  else  will. 
Rich  honesty  dwells  like  a  miser,  sir,  in  a  poor  house,  as  your  pearl  in  your  foul 
oyster. 

Jaques.  But,  for  the  Seventh  Cause,  how  did  you  find  the  quarrel  on  the  Seventh 
Cause  ? 

Touchstone.  Upon  a  lie  seven  times  removed.  —  (Bear  your  body  more  seeming, 
Audrey.)  —  As  thus,  sir.  I  did  dislike  the  cut  of  a  certain  courtier's  beard:  he  sent 
me  word,  if  I  said  his  beard  was  not  cut  well,  he  was  in  the  mind  it  was :  this  is  called 
the  "  retort  courteous."  If  I  sent  him  word  again  it  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  send 
me  word  he  cut  it  to  please  himself :  this  is  called  the  "quip  modest."  If  again,  it  was 
not  well  cut,  he  [dispraised]  my  judgment:  this  is  called  the  "reply  churlish."  If 
again,  it  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  answer,  I  spake  not  true  :  this  is  called  the 
"reproof  valiant."  If  again,  it  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  say,  I  lied:  this  is  called 
the  "countercheck  quarrelsome:  "and  so  to  the  "lie  circumstantial,"  and  the  "lie 
direct." 

Jaqices.    And  how  often  did  you  say,  his  beard  was  not  well  cut  ? 

Touchstone.  I  durst  go  no  further  than  the  "lie  circumstantial,"  nor  he  durst  not 
give  me  the  "  lie  direct  ;  "  and  so  we  measured  swords,  and  parted. 

Jaques.    Can  you  nominate  in  order  now  the  degrees  of  the  lie? 

Touchstone.    O  sir,  we  quarrel  in  print; d  by  the  book,  as  you  have  books  for  good 

a  A  stately,  solemn  dance,  comporting  with  the  dignity  of  the  Court. 

b  For  my  good  lord ;  like  the  French  cher  monsieur. 

0  An  affectation  of  ceremonious  language. 

d  In  all  this  Touchstone  ridicules  the  nice  distinctions  of  the  law  of  duelling  —  sometimes 
called  the  Code  of  Honor — which,  in  Shakespeare's  day,  was  just  beginning  to  take  form,  and 
appear  in  books. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 


139 


manners  :  I  will  name  you  the  degrees.  The  first,  the  Retort  Courteous  ;  the  second, 
the  Quip  Modest ;  the  third,  the  Reply  Churlish  ;  the  fourth,  the  Reproof  Valiant ;  the 
fifth,  the  Countercheck  Quarrelsome;  the  sixth,  the  Lie  with  Circumstance;  the 
seventh,  the  Lie  Direct.  All  these  you  may  avoid  but  the  Lie  Direct ;  and  you  may 
avoid  that  too,  with  an  if.  I  knew  when  seven  justices  could  not  [make]  up  a  quarrel ; 
but  when  the  parties  were  met  themselves,  one  of  them  thought  but  of  an  if  as  if  you 
said  so,  then  I  said  so ;  and  they  shook  hands  and  swore  brothers.  Your  if  is  the  only 
peacemaker  ;  much  virtue  in  if 

J 'agues.  Is  not  this  a  rare  fellow,  my  lord  ?  he  's  as  good  at  anything,  and  yet  a 
fool. 

Duke  Senior.  He  uses  his  folly  like  a  stalking-horse,11  and  under  the  presentation 
of  that,  he  shoots  his  wit. 

While  they  were  thus  amusing  themselves  with  the  wise  nonsense  of  the  fool, 
Celia  and  Rosalind  returned,  both  dressed  as  befitted  young  princesses.  Rosa- 
lind came  forward  to  her  father,  the  Duke,  who  was  too  much  surprised  to  speak, 
and  bending  dutifully  before  him,  said,  "To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours;  " 
and  then  turning  with  a  loving  look  to  Orlando,  she  added,  "To  you  I  give  myself, 
for  I  am  yours." 

In  great  amazement  the  Duke  cried,  "  If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my 
daughter." 

And  Orlando,  equally  astonished,  exclaimed,  "  If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you 
are  my  Rosalind." 

Poor  Phebe,  seeing  her  handsome  Ganymede  changed  to  a  lovely  girl,  cried 
dolefully,  "  If  sight  and  shape  be  true,  why  then,  —  my  love,  adieu  !  " 

And  Rosalind,  smiling  with  pleasure  and  dimpling  with  fun,  turned  in  succes- 
sion to  the  Duke,  to  Orlando,  and  to  Phebe,  with  a  speech  in  one  sentence  for 
each  :  "  I  '11  have  no  father  if  you  be  not  he  :  I  '11  have  no  husband  if  you  be 
not  he  :  nor  e'er  wed  woman,  if  you  be  not  she." 

The  Duke  welcomed  his  dear  niece  Celia  and  her  lover  Oliver  as  warmly  as 
he  did  his  daughter  and  Orlando  ;  and  even  silly  Phebe  made  the  best  of  her 
faithful  Silvius,  declaring  that  she  really  liked  him  after  all,  and  would  marry  him 
for  his  devotion. 

In  the  midst  of  the  surprises  and  the  happy  congratulations,  a  new-comer  en- 
tered in  the  person  of  young  Jaques  de  Bois,  the  brother  of  Orlando  and  Oliver, 
who  brought  tidings  which  added  yet  more  to  the  happiness  of  all.  Duke  Fred- 
erick, he  said,  while  on  his  way  to  the  forest  with  a  large  army,  had  met  an  old 
hermit,  whose  conversation  had  so  changed  his  heart  that  he  resolved  to  embrace 
the  same  life  and  retire  from  the  world,  restoring  the  crown  to  his  banished 
brother,  and  with  it  all  the  property  and  lands  taken  from  those  that  were  exiled 
with  him. 

a  A  horse,  or  something  formed  like  a  horse,  behind  which  the  hunter  hides  himself  so  as 
not  to  be  seen  by  the  game. 


140 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 


This  was  joyous  news  to  all.  The  banished  Duke  heartily  welcomed  young 
De  Bois,  and  congratulated  his  companions  on  their  good  fortune.  He  begged 
them,  however,  to  delay  a  little,  that  all  might  fully  enjoy  the  rustic  revelry,  and 
have  a  merry  dance  with  the  happy  brides  and  bridegrooms.  Jaques,  the  melan- 
choly philosopher,  was  the  only  one  who  objected  to  the  Duke's  idea.  He  said 
he  preferred  to  seek  out  the  recent  convert,  that  he  might,  if  possible,  learn  some- 
thing new  from  him.  In  spite  of  the  Duke's  entreaties  he  bade  them  all  good- 
by  with  the  kindliest  wishes ;  for  his  own  part,  he  said  he,  had  decided  to  take 
possession  of  the  Duke's  abandoned  cave,  and  make  it  his  future  home. 

The  rest  we  leave  dancing  blithely  in  the  Forest  of  Arden.  The  weddings  took 
place  in  the  merry  greenwood,  and  then  all  the  parties  betook  themselves  to  their 
several  places,  —  the  shepherds  to  their  pastoral  life,  and  the  lords  and  ladies  to 
the  palaces  where  they  were  most  at  home,  and  which  they  were  well  fitted  to 
adorn. 

And  now,  in  looking  back  over  our  finished  story,  and  seeing  how  bright  and 
fresh  and  out-of-doors  it  has  been  ;  how  the  pleasant  people  who  have  suffered, 
have  not  suffered  so  very  much,  while  out  of  their  suffering  happiness  has  come  ; 
how  all  the  good  have  been  rewarded,  and  all  the  bad  have  become  good,  and 
then  been  rewarded  too  ;  how  everybody  who  ought  to  get  married  has  got  mar- 
ried, and  to  just  the  right  person ;  and  how  the  queer  folk  who  could  not  well  be 
fitted  in  to  the  new  order  of  things  have  been  snugly  provided  for  in  forest-caves 
and  such  out-of-the-way  corners,  —  are  you  not  ready  to  say  that  the  whole  is 
rightly  named,  and  everything  exactly  as  you  like  it  ? 


JULIUS    CAESAR. 


INTRODUCTION. 


ESIDES  the  exquisite  comedies — two  of  which  we 
have  given  in  this  volume  —  Shakespeare  wrote  some 
tragedies,  or  dramatic  poems,  presenting  scenes  from 
life  with  mournful  ending;  and  also  some  histories, 
or  passages  taken  directly  from  historical  chronicles, 
and  put  into  dramatic  form.  "Julius  Cesar,"  a  play 
written  not  more  than  a  year  or  two  from  the  time  when  "  As  You 
Like  It "  was  produced,  is  both  a  tragedy  and  a  history. 

It  deals  with  characters  and  events  belonging  to  a  period  in  Roman 
history  perhaps  better  known  and  more  interesting  to  us  as  American 
republicans  than  any  other  epoch  in  the  life  of  the  world  ;  because  it 
shows  us  how  a  true  and  pure  republican,  so  many  centuries  ago,  was 
wrought  upon  to  commit  a  great  crime  to  save  the  liberties  of  his 
country,  and  teaches  us,  by  the  disastrous  result  of  his  effort,  the  vanity 
of  expecting  to  do  good  by  evil  means.  The  only  source  from  which 
the  poet  could  draw  materials  for  his  work  was  the  Lives  of  Illustrious 
Greeks  and  Romans,  written  in  Greek,  in  the  first  Christian  century,  by 
a  man  named  Plutarch,  and  translated  by  Sir  Thomas  North  out  of 
a  French  version. 

The  fidelity  with  which  Shakespeare  has  followed  his  copy,  taken 
together  with  the  life  and  spirit  which  he  has  imparted  to  the  dull  page, 


144 


INTRODUCTION. 


making  the  formal  characters  of  the  history  stand  out  as  living,  breathing 
Romans,  has  been  much  admired.  It  has  been  a  matter  of  wonder  with 
some  that  the  play  should  have  taken  its  name  from  Julius  Caesar,  when 
that  person  has  so  small  a  part  in  it  ;  being  presented  only  in  a  few 
comparatively  unimportant  scenes,  and  being  assassinated  in  the  third 
act.  It  has  been  said  that  Brutus  is  the  true  hero  of  the  play,  which 
should  have  been  called  by  his  name.  To  which  it  is  replied,  that  the 
life  and  character  of  Caesar  are  the  pivot  on  which  the  whole  action  of 
the  drama  turns,  and  that  the  spirit  of  Caesar,  strong  and  terrible,  is 
present,  as  a  controlling  and  an  avenging  power,  to  the  very  end. 
Brutus  himself  exclaims,  amid  the  disasters  of  the  closing  day,  — 

"  O  Julius  Caesar,  thou  art  mighty  yet ! 
Thy  spirit  walks  abroad,  and  turns  our  swords 
Into  our  own  proper  entrails." 

Others  object  that  the  very  slight  representation  here  given  of  the 
great  Julius  is  untrue  to  history  :  that  he  was  simple  and  modest,  as  be- 
came a  soldier  and  a  man  of  prompt  and  energetic  action  ;  while  here  he 
appears  pompous  and  pretentious.  To  this  it  is  sometimes  replied,  that 
Shakespeare  was,  in  this  play,  intent  on  showing  the  motives  that 
prompted  the  extreme  course  of  the  republicans,  and  Caesar  was  to  be 
presented  in  the  light  in  which  he  appeared  to  them.  It  is  said  also  that, 
according  to  Plutarch,  the  character  of  Caesar,  just  before  his  death,  did 
change  for  the  worse  in  these  very  respects.  He  had  been  spoiled  by 
success  and  power ;  he  was  transformed  by  his  ambition,  —  "  the  cov- 
etous desire  to  be  called  king,"  as  Plutarch  says.  It  is  this  that  made 
him  assume  the  air  and  manner  of  a  sovereign,  and  lend  an  ear  to  flat- 
terers, and  take  counsel  of  the  superstitions  he  had  before  despised. 
Thus  he  presented  to  the  republican  plotters  his  most  offensive  side, 
and  thus  Shakespeare  has  chosen  to  depict  him. 

We,  on  the  other  hand,  have  reason  to  rejoice  in  the  picture  here 
given  us  of  the  Ideal  Republican,  —  upright  and  faithful.  That  Brutus 
was  too  good  a  man  to  be  successful,  that  his  very  virtues  were  the 
cause  of  his  failure,  does  not  impair,  but  increase,  our  gratitude  for  this 


INTRODUCTION.  I4c 

lovely  model  of  domestic  and  civic  virtue.  We  enter  with  full  sympathy 
into  his  claim  when  about  to  die,  — 

"  I  shall  have  glory  by  this  losing  day 
More  than  Octavius  and  Mark  Antony 
By  their  vile  conquest  shall  attain  unto." 

Well  says  a  recent  writer :  "  Of  true  failure  he  suffered  none.  Octa- 
vius and  Mark  Antony  remained  victors  at  Philippi.  Yet  the  purest 
wreath  of  victory  rests  on  the  forehead  of  the  defeated  conspirator." 


JULIUS    C^SAR. 


I. 


WO  thousand  years  ago,  the  Empire  of  Rome  was  the  greatest 
the  world  had  ever  known.  It  comprised  a  vast  number  both 
of  powerful  nations  and  small  states  within  its  limits.  All 
the  civilized  world  paid  allegiance  to  this  mighty  Mistress. 

At  its  first  foundation,  about  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
years  before  the  birth  of  Christ,  while  yet  a  very  small  state, 
it  was  ruled  by  kings,  and  so  continued  to  be  for  about  two 
centuries  and  a  half,  when  the  sixth  monarch,  Sextus  Tarquinius,  was  driven  out  of 
the  city  by  the  people  for  his  tyranny  and  many  crimes.  The  leader  of  this  revo- 
lution was  one  Lucius  Junius,  who,  while  waiting  an  opportunity  to  strike  the  blow, 
concealed  his  purpose  by  pretending  to  be  an  idiot.  It  was  during  this  time  that 
he  received  the  nickname  of  Brutus.  After  this,  for  more  than  five  hundred  years 
Rome  continued  to  be  a  republic ;  and  so  deep  had  been  the  impression  made 
upon  the  Roman  people,  that  during  all  that  time  the  very  word  king,  in  connec- 


148  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 

tion  with  their  government,  was  enough  to  rouse  their  jealousy  and  rage.  The 
name  of  "  Brutus,"  first  given  as  a  reproach,  became  of  course  a  badge  of  honor 
to  all  who  could  claim  it  by  descent. 

But  the  Roman  republic,  which  remained  for  a  number  of  centuries  pure,  became, 
for  that  reason,  powerful ;  and  its  very  power,  with  the  wealth  that  came  from  its 
many  conquests,  caused  its  ruin.  At  the  period  when  our  story  begins,  luxury 
had  sapped  the  foundations  of  morality,  and  all  classes  of  society  were  thoroughly 
corrupt.  There  had  been  from  the  beginning  an  order  of  nobility,  established  by 
Romulus  himself;  and  so  there  had  always  existed  two  powerful  parties,  the 
patricians  (or  nobles)  and  the  plebeians  (or  common  people),  whose  struggles  for 
the  supreme  power  kept  the  country  in  perpetual  turmoil.  According  to  the 
Constitution,  the  Romans  were  really  very  free.  All  laws  were  made  in  the 
Comitia,  or  assembly  of  the  whole  people  ;  but  then  the  Senate  had  by  degrees 
encroached  upon  this  power,  and  now  no  act  could  be  submitted  to  the  people 
until  the  Senate  had  first  discussed  it.  On  the  other  hand,  the  plebeians  had  their 
triumphs  also.  The  Senate,  at  first  confined  to  the  patricians,  was  at  last  open  to  all 
ranks.  An  order  of  Tribunes  of  the  People  was,  established,  with  special  powers, 
to  watch  over  and  protect  the  people's  rights.  The  supreme  power  was  vested  in 
two  Consuls,  chosen  by  the  people,  and  these  too,  at  first  taken  only  from  the 
higher  order,  came  at  last  to  be  selected  from  the  plebeians  also. 

In  short,  the  liberties  of  the  Roman  people  were  not  in  any  great  danger, 
except  from  their  own  vices.  From  the  plundered  countries  and  cities  of  the  con- 
quered world,  the  patrician  families  became  very  wealthy,  and  then,  as  luxury 
brought  the  most  fearful  corruption  into  the  higher  classes,  they  in  turn  debased 
the  common  people  in  every  way  with  bribes  ;  so  that  virtue,  either  in  private  or  in 
public  life,  was  rare  indeed.  The  republic  seemed  ripe  for  destruction.  Men 
looked  nervously  about,  as  if  in  momentary  expectation  that  some  successful  gen- 
eral would  take  advantage  of  his  influence  with  a  powerful  army  to  seize  the  reins 
of  government,  and  declare  himself  King  or  Emperor  of  Rome. 

For  when  a  people  get  into  this  condition,  military  glory  comes  to  be  held  in 
high  esteem  among  them.  They  worship  power,  and  always  want  to  be  on  the 
stronger  side.  The  Roman  people  were  no  exception  to  this  rule.  Among  them 
a  successful  general  was  always  sure  of  a  cordial  welcome.  Two  of  the  most 
famous  generals  in  the  world's  history  were  Romans,  born  in  this  first  century 
before  Christ,  within  a  few  years  of  each  other.  They  were  Pompey,  sometimes 
surnamed  the  Great,  and  Julius  Csesar,  whom  all  the  world  admits  to  be  great, 
with  or  without  a  surname. 

Pompey  won  great  applause  while  yet  a  young  man  by  extensive  conquests 
in  Asia,  and  by  ridding  the  Mediterranean  of  hordes  of  pirates  who  had  rendered 
the  passage  of  that  sea  a  terror  to  all  who  were  compelled  to  undertake  it.  On 
his  return  to  Rome,  laden  with  spoils,  trophies,  and  captives,  he  was  received  with 
the  wildest  joy  and  the  most  extravagant  praises.     A  Triumph  was  decreed  him 


JULIUS    (LESAR.  149 

by  the  Senate.  This  was  a  brilliant  military  procession,  including  everything  in  the 
way  of  display  that  could  do  honor  to  the  favorite  of  the  people.  Triumphal 
arches  were  erected  in  the  streets  through  which  he  rode  in  his  chariot.  The 
houses  were  gayly  decorated.  The  multitude,  every  one  in  his  best  attire,  thronged 
the  streets  and  squares,  bearing  banners  and  flags,  and  shouting  for  Great  Pompey. 
We  get  some  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  the  show  in  this  case,  when  we  are  told 
that  the  procession  was  two  days  in  passing  a  particular  point.  One  would  think, 
from  their  enthusiasm  on  this  occasion,  that  Pompey  never  could  be  forgotten 
by  the  Roman  people  ;  but  now  another  hero  was  arising,  who  was  destined  to 
prove  his  superior,  and  to  eclipse  his  glory  forever. 

Caius  Julius  Caesar  was  born  just  one  hundred  years  before  what  is  called  the 
Christian  Era,  from  which  we  reckon  our  time.  He  was  a  patrician  by  birth ; 
but  by  his  brilliant  military  exploits,  varied  talents,  and  personal  attractions,  he 
had  endeared  himself  to  the  lower  classes  also.  He  too  had  distinguished  him- 
self at  an  early  age  in  the  Asiatic  wars ;  and  afterward,  having  been  educated  in 
law  and  oratory  by  celebrated  masters,  he  filled  many  important  stations  in  civil 
life  by  the  choice  of  the  people,  and  at  last  rose  to  be  Consul,  the  highest  officer  in 
the  republic.  As  the  consuls  could  not  be  at  once  re-elected,  Caesar  went  with  an 
army  into  Gaul,  —  now  France,  —  from  which  country  Rome  was  in  perpetual 
danger,  because  the  passes  of  the  Alps  offered  but  a  slight  barrier  to  the  incur- 
sions of  its  fierce  and  warlike  inhabitants.  Here  Caesar  remained  nine  years.  He 
entirely  subjugated  the  Gauls,  yet  used  his  triumph  so  wisely  that  they  became  his 
unfailing  friends.  He  conquered  the  Belgians  also,  and  certain  German  tribes, 
and  twice  subdued  the  savage  but  intrepid  Britons. 

But  by  this  time  the  fame  of  his  exploits  had  struck  terror  into  the  hearts  of 
the  selfish  and  luxurious  patricians  of  Rome.  Caesar  had  received  the  promise 
that  on  his  return  from  Gaul,  he  should  be  permitted  to  stand  as  candidate  for  a 
second  term  of  the  consulship.  But  they  remembered  him  to  have  been  a  vigor- 
ous reformer  before  he  went  to  Gaul,  and  they  trembled  at  the  thought  of  his 
return,  and  his  sure  accession  to  power.  Pompey  was  now  consul,  and,  at  his 
instigation,  the  Senate  commanded  Caesar  to  resign  his  government  of  the  province, 
to  abandon  his  army,  and  come  home.  Caesar  answered  by  marching  his  army 
into  Italy.  Pompey  fled  from  Rome,  with  the  consuls,  senators,  and  magistrates, 
and  levied  an  army  in  the  East ;  but  Caesar  followed  him,  and  inflicted  upon  him 
a  disastrous  defeat  at  Pharsalia,  a  place  in  Greece.  After  Pompey  had  escaped 
to  Egypt,  where  he  was  treacherously  slain,  other  generals  took  up  the  cause,  but 
were  all  beaten  by  Caesar,  until,  at  last,  having  conquered  the  sons  of  Pompey, 
who  had  raised  the  last  standard  of  revolt  in  the  Roman  province  of  Spain,  this 
wonderful  soldier  returned  to  Rome,  the  master  of  the  world. 

All  now  were  eager  to  recognize  him  as  the  destined  ruler  of  the  republic. 
The  Senate  made  him  Dictator  (or  absolute  ruler)  for  life,  and  gave  him  the  title 
of  Imperator,  with  all  the  powers  of  sovereignty.    His  wisdom  as  a  legislator  proved 


i5o 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 


equal  to  his  skill  in  military  affairs.  He  declared  to  the  people  his  determination 
to  use  his  power  for  the  good  of  the  state  ;  he  passed  many  useful  laws  ;  he  gen- 
erously rewarded  his  friends,  and  conciliated  his  enemies  by  his  clemency.  But 
the  patricians  hated  and  feared  him  all  the  more  ;  while  undoubtedly  there  were 
some  true  and  pure  republicans  —  like  Brutus,  Cato,  and  Cicero  —  who  shrank 
with  dread  from  that  approaching  shadow  of  kingly  power,  whose  substance  was 
already  upon  them. 


II. 


Act  I.    Scene  i. 


.  HIS  was  the  condition  of  matters  in  Rome  when,  one  fine, 
bright  day,  the  appearance  in  the  streets  of  swarms  of  peo- 
ple, dressed  in  their  best  attire,  showed  that  it  was  a  holi- 
day in  the  great  city,  and  that  the  populace  were  waiting 
for  some  grand  pageant  or  procession. 

Now  this  Roman  populace  was  composed  of  very  dif- 
ferent material  from  what  we  are  accustomed  to  see  on  sim- 
ilar occasions.  In  the  first  place,  they  were  very  ignorant.  There  were  then  no 
printed  books,  no  newspapers  or  periodicals,  no  reading-rooms,  where  the  com- 
mon people  might  learn  about  public  affairs.  Education  was  confined  to  the 
higher  classes  ;  and  the  crowds  who  gathered  in  the  Forum,  or  great  square,  heard 
the  news  either  by  report  and  gossip,  or  else  directly  from  the  orators,  who 
addressed  them  in  set  speeches,  and  swayed  them  with  the  power  of  eloquence  in 
one  direction  or  another.  All  great  crowds  are  excitable  and  fickle  ;  but  these 
Romans,  because  of  their  ignorance,  were  especially  so,  and  sometimes,  under 
the  temporary  influence  of  their  orators,  became  a  terrible  and  almost  resistless 
power.  And  this  was  too  often  without  regard  to  right  or  reason  ;  yet  they  had  a 
deep  respect  for  Roman  law,  and  a  kind  of  vague  love  for  Roman  liberty  ;  and  any 
man  who  had  their  personal  regard,  by  a  shrewd  use  of  well-chosen  words  about 
such  things,  could  lead  them  at  his  will. 

It  was  such  a  crowd  that  now  thronged  the  streets  of  Rome.  In  that  day 
every  man  of  the  people  was  a  mechanic,  and  was  compelled  by  law  to  wear  the 
badge  or  sign  of  his  trade,  except  on  legal  holidays.     These  were  evidently  work- 


152 


SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 


ing-men ;  yet  they  wore  not  the  badges  of  their  several  callings,  but  were  arrayed 
in  their  best  apparel,  and  had  a  cheerful,  merry-making  air,  and  a  look  of  expec- 
tancy, as  though  something  of  great  interest  was  shortly  to  make  its  appearance. 
In  short,  they  "made  holiday."  Caesar  was  presently  to  enter  the  city,  returning 
in  triumph  from  Spain,  where  he  had  defeated  the  sons  of  Pompey,  and  the  Great 
Dictator  was  the  idol  of  the  hour. 

But  not  all  faces  wore  the  same  contented,  pleasure-seeking  expression.  There 
were  some  scowling  brows  and  muttered  curses  among  those  who  watched  the 
merriment  of  the  thoughtless  artisans.  At  length  two  tribunes,  —  a  kind  of  civic 
officers  elected  by  the  people,  —  who  belonged  to  that  large  party  that,  some  from 
patriotic  and  some  from  envious  motives,  hated  Csesar,  and  dreaded  the  rapid 
growth  of  his  power,  confronted  one  of  these  laughing  crowds,  and  addressed  them 
sharply.  Their  names  were  Flavius  and  Marullus,  and  thus  they  berated  the  mul- 
titude, who  finally  shrank  away  before  them  :  — 


Flavius.   Hence  !  home,  you  idle  creatures,  get  you  home. 
Is  this  a  holiday  ?     What !  know  you  not, 
Being  [mechanics,  that  you  should]  not  walk 


JULIUS   CESAR. 


153 


Upon  a  laboring-day  without  the  sign 

Of  your  profession  ?  —  \To  one.]  Speak,  what  trade  art  thou  ? 

1  Citizen.       Why,  sir,  a  carpenter. 

Marullus.      Where  is  thy  leather  apron,  and  thy  rule  ? 

What  dost  thou  with  thy  best  apparel  on  ?  — 
[7#  another.]  You,  sir  ;  what  trade  are  you  ? 

2  Citizen.    Truly,  sir,  [compared  with]  a  fine  workman,  I  am  but,  as  you  would 
say,  a  cobbler." 

Marullus.    But  what  trade  art  thou  ?     Answer  me  [correctly]. 
2  Citizen.    A  trade,  sir,  that  I  hope  I  may  use  with  a  safe  conscience ;  which  is 
indeed,  sir,  a  mender  of  bad  soles.  —  I  am  indeed,  sir,  a  surgeon  to  old  shoes  ;  when 
they  are  in  great  danger,  I  re-cover  them.    As  [goodly]  men  as  ever  trod  upon  [calf  s- 
skin]  have  gone  upon  my  handywork. 

Flavins.        But  wherefore  art  not  in  thy  shop  to-day  ? 

Why  dost  thou  lead  these  men  about  the  streets  ? 
2  Citizen.    Truly,  sir,  to  wear  out  their  shoes,  to  get  myself  into  more  work.     But, 
indeed,  sir,  we  make  holiday,  to  see  Caesar,  and  to  rejoice  in  his  triumph. 
Marullus.     Wherefore  rejoice  ?     What  conquest  brings  he  home  ? 

What  tributaries  follow  him  to  Rome, 

To  grace  in  captive  bonds  his  chariot  wheels  ? 

You  blocks,  you  stones,  you  worse  than  senseless  things  ! 

O  you  hard  hearts,  you  cruel  men  of  Rome, 

Knew  you  not  Pompey  ?     Many  a  time  and  oft 

Have  you  climbed  up  to  walls  and  battlements, 

To  towers  and  windows,  yea,  to  chimney-tops, 

Your  infants  in  your  arms,  and  there  have  sat 

The  live-long  day,  with  patient  expectation, 

To  see  great  Pompey  pass  the  streets  of  Rome : 

And  when  you  saw  his  chariot  but  appear, 

Have  you  not  made  an  universal  shout, 

That  Tiber  trembled  underneath  her  banks  ? 

And  do  you  now  put  on  your  best  attire  ? 

And  do  you  now  [choose]  out  a  holiday  ? 

And  do  you  now  strew  flowers  in  his  way, 

That  comes  in  triumph  over  Pompey's  blood  ? 

Be  gone  ! 

Run  to  your  houses,  fall  upon  your  knees, 

Pray  to  the  gods  to  [turn  away]  the  plague 

That  needs  must  light  on  this  ingratitude. 
Flavins.        Go,  go,  good  countrymen  ;  and  for  this  fault 

Assemble  all  the  poor  men  of  your  sort : 

Draw  them  to  Tiber  banks,  and  weep  your  tears 


a  Cobbler,  in  Shakespeare's  time,  meant  botcher  —  any  kind  of  coarse  workman,  and  not 
shoemaker  alone,  as  now ;  so  that  the  word  did  not  convey  an  answer  to  the  tribune's 
question. 


154  SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE    YOUNG    FOLK. 

Into  the  channel,  till  the  lowest  stream 
Do  kiss  the  most  exalted  shores  of  all.* 

The  citizens,  as  if  shamed  by  the  reproaches  of  the  tribunes,  silently  dispersed, 
Then  said  Flavius,  turning  to  Marullus,  — 

Go  you  down  that  way  towards  the  Capitol ; 

This  way  will  I.     Disrobe  the  images, 

If  you  do  find  them  decked  with  [ornaments]. 

Marullus.    May  we  do  so  ? 
You  know  it  is  the  feast  of  Lupercal. 

Flavius.    It  is  no  matter  ;  let  no  images 
Be  hung  with  Caesar's  trophies.     I  '11  about, 
And  drive  away  the  [people]  from  the  streets  : 
So  do  you  too,  where  you  perceive  them  thick. 
These  growing  feathers  plucked  from  Caesar's  wing, 
Will  make  him  fly  an  ordinary  [height], 
Who  else  would  soar  above  the  view  of  men, 
And  keep  us  all  in  servile  fearfulness. 

To  understand  this,  we  must  know  that  among  the  statues  of  kings  and  famous 
men  which  adorned  the  public  places  in  Rome,  Caesar  had  set  up  a  statue  of  him- 
self. This  pleased  his  particular  friends,  but  to  many  it  gave  deep  offence.  In 
anticipation  of  the  great  triumphal  procession,  these  statues  were  adorned  with 
trophies  brought  home  from  the  war  by  Caesar.  Some  one,  hoping  thus  to  please 
the  Dictator,  had  placed  a  laurel  crown,  tied  with  white  ribbon,  on  his  statue.  The 
white  ribbon  was  a  badge  of  royalty,  and  seemed  to  say,  "  Caesar,  too,  will  one  day 
be  king." 

Now,  among  the  Romans,  there  was  a  profound  hatred  of  the  very  name  of 
king.  For  five  hundred  years,  no  matter  what  might  have  been  done  in  the 
countries  which  they  ruled  abroad,  at  home  their  government  had  been  called  a 
republic,  and  no  one  among  their  great  statesmen  and  generals  had  ever  dared  to 
dream  of  wearing  a  crown.  Many  things,  like  the  crowning  of  the  statue  and  the 
fact  that  Caesar  had  had  a  chair  like  a  throne  made  for  his  use  at  the  theatre  and 
in  the  Senate-chamber,  seemed  to  show  the  secret  ambition  of  his  heart.  He  had 
already  the  power  of  a  king,  and  it  seemed  but  a  short  step  from  the  real  thing 
to  the  name  of  the  thing.  There  were  many  who  were  jealous  of  this  increasing 
dignity  and  state  of  Caesar,  and  they  made  his  ambition  an  excuse  for  trying  to 
destroy  him.  The  two  tribunes,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  were  secret  enemies  to 
Caesar,  under  pretence  of  obeying  the  ancient  laws  of  Rome,  stripped  the  orna- 
ments from  the  statues,  took  the  ribbon  and  wreath  from  Caesar's  brow,  and  sent 
to  prison  the  man  who  had  placed  them  there. 

a  That  is,  till  the  lowest  tide  do  reach  the  extreme  high-water  mark. 


JULIUS    CAESAR. 


155 


When  Caesar  afterwards  learned  what  had  been  done,  he  was  very  angry,  and 
moved  the  Senate  to  dismiss  the  meddlesome  tribunes  from  their  office,  declar- 
ing that  it  was  his  place,  not  theirs,  to  disavow  such  claims.  But  meanwhile  they 
went  about,  before  the  triumphal  ceremonies,  and  had  the  statues  stripped  of  their 
adornments. 


III. 


Act  I.     Scene  2. 

I  HE  feast  of  the  Lupercalia  was  celebrated  every  year  at  Rome 
W  in  honor  of  Lupercus,  a  Roman  deity  corresponding  to  the 
god  whom  the  Greeks  called  Pan.  Among  other  ceremo- 
nies at  this  festival,  the  priests  of  the  order,  among  whom 
were  some  young  men  of  the  highest  rank,  ran,  half  naked, 
through  the  streets,  bearing  whips  made  of  leathern  thongs, 
with  which  they  struck  freely  all  whom  they  met.  These 
blows  were  supposed  to  confer  great  blessings  on  those  who  chanced  to  receive 
them. 

Connected  with  the  festivities,  there  was  at  this  time  a  grand  procession.  First 
came  Julius  Caesar  and  his  wife  Calphurnia,  attended  by  Mark  Antony,  a  near  friend 
of  Csesar's,  while  Cicero,  Brutus,  Cassius,  Casca,  and  many  more  of  the  leading  citi- 
zens followed,  and  an  immense  crowd  of  the  common  people  had  gathered  to  look 
on.  The  procession  moved,  accompanied  by  music,  amid  great  popular  excite- 
ment. Antony,  although  at  this  time  one  of  the  consuls  (the  highest  officers  in 
the  government),  appeared  among  the  youths,  whip  in  hand,  prepared  for  the 
race,  as  he  was  the  chief  of  one  of  the  bands  of  Lupercalian  priests.  He  was 
censured  by  many  for  his  want  of  dignity ;  but  it  seemed  to  please  Julius  Caesar, 
who  commanded  his  wife  to  stand  directly  in  the  way  of  the  young  priest  as  he 
ran,  and  ordered  Antony  not  to  forget  to  touch  her  in  "  the  holy  chase." 

Antony  replied,  "  I  shall  remember  :  when  Caesar  says,  '  Do  this,'  it  is  per- 
formed." 

In  the  midst  of  the  excitement  and  above  the  din  of  the  music,  a  voice  was 
suddenly  heard  from  the  throng,  calling  "  Caesar  ! "  in  a  tone  so  loud  and  clear 
that  Caesar  turned  to  listen,  exclaiming,  — 


Ha !  who  calls  ? 
Casca.    Bid  every  noise  be  still.  —  Peace  yet  again  ! 
CcEsar.    Who  is  it  in  the  press  that  calls  on  me  ? 


[Music  ceases. 


JULIUS    CESAR.  157 

I  hear  a  tongue,  shriller  than  all  the  music, 
Cry,  Caesar !     Speak :  Caesar  is  turned  to  hear. 

Soothsayer.    Beware  the  ides  a  of  March. 

Ccesar.  What  man  is  that  ? 

Brutus.    A  soothsayer  bids  you  beware  the  ides  of  March. 

Ccesar.   Set  him  before  me  ;  let  me  see  his  face. 

Casca.    Fellow,  come  from  the  throng  :  look  upon  Caesar. 

\They  place  him  face  to  face  with  Cesar. 

Co?sar.    What  say'st  thou  to  me  now  ?     Speak  once  again. 

Soothsayer.    Beware  the  ides  of  March. 

Ccesar.  He  is  a  dreamer  ;  let  us  leave  him.  —  Pass. 
1 
With  flourish  of  trumpets,  the  sound  of  martial  music,  and  the  waving  of  ban- 
ners, the  gorgeous  pageant  moves  on.  When  the  last  chariot  has  disappeared, 
and  only  the  distant  shouts  of  the  crowd  are  heard,  there  still  linger  in  the  public 
square  two  men,  who  are  to  make  the  "  dream  "  of  that  soothsayer  a  reality. 
These  are  Brutus  and  Cassius,  —  the  one  a  patriot,  the  other  a  politician. 

Brutus  was  a  nephew  of  the  celebrated  philosopher  and  statesman,  Marcus 
Cato,  by  whom  he  had  in  great  part  been  educated.  His  character  was  full  of 
beauty  and  sweetness.  He  was  upright,  gentle,  and  pure.  Everybody  esteemed 
him,  and  he  was  revered  and  trusted  by  the  people.  He  loved  his  country,  and 
sincerely  desired  for  her  the  best  and  largest  liberty.  But  he  was  a  mere  student, 
an  enthusiastic  lover  of  books,  and  knew  little  of  the  hearts  and  ways  of  men. 
In  the  wars  between  Pompey  and  Caesar,  Brutus  had  sided  with  the  former ;  but 
after  the  overthrow  of  Pompey,  Caesar  had  forgiven  him  and  taken  him  to  his 
bosom,  and  afterwards  placed  him  in  offices  of  power  and  trust :  so  that  there 
was  at  this  time  much  love  and  intimacy  between  the  two. 

Cassius  was  the  brother-in-law  of  Brutus,  but  there  had  been  lately  some 
coolness  between  them,  arising  from  the  jealousy  of  Cassius,  because  some  of 
his  personal  ambitions  had  been  thwarted  through  Caesar's  preference  for  Brutus. 
But  Cassius  was  a  shrewd,  practical  man,  with  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  work- 
ings of  the  human  heart.  Although  not  without  certain  manly  qualities,  such  as 
courage  and  energy,  much  valued  by  the  Romans  of  that  day,  he  would  never, 
like  Brutus,  be  hampered  by  virtuous  scruples,  but  if  he  had  an  object  in  view, 
would  think  any  means  right  by  which  it  might  be  gained.  Cassius  had  already 
begun  to  study  ways  of  making  an  end  at  once  of  Caesar,  whom  he  hated ;  and 
had  plotted  with  many  other  rich  and  powerful  Romans,  who  desired  the  same 
thing,  not  because  they  wished  for  the  liberty  of  the  people,  but  because  the 
power  of  this  one  great  man  overshadowed  and  belittled  their  own.  But  there 
were  many  things  about  this  soldierly  "  tyrant "  which  interested  the  Roman 
populace,  while  these  aristocratic  and  selfish  patricians  were  themselves  far  from 

a  The  15th  of  the  month. 


158         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

popular.  There  was  therefore  not  a  little  danger  connected  with  their  enterprise. 
So  it  became  a  matter  of  importance  to  them  to  obtain  some  one  who  "  sat 
high  in  all  the  people's  hearts,"  to  lead  their  cause,  and  to  stand  between  them 
and  the  judgment  of  the  multitude.  It  was  for  this  that  Cassius  fixed  his  keen 
eye  on  Brutus,  —  standing  moody  and  lost  in  thought,  —  as  a  man  who  should  by 
all  means  be  won  over  to  the  conspiracy ;  and  he  now  drew  near,  and  began  with 
words  of  friendly  complaint. 

"  Brutus,"  he  said,  "  you  are  changed  of  late.  I  have  not  from  you  that  gen- 
tleness and  show  of  love  that  I  was  wont  to  have.  You  are  too  cold  and  distant 
to  your  friend  who  loves  you." 

"  It  is  not,  Cassius,  that  I  love  you  less,"  answered  the  noble  Brutus.  "  Some 
troubles  I  have,  some  anxious  thoughts,  which  belong  only  to  myself.  If  these 
have  seemed  to  change  my  outward  behavior,  think  only,  I  pray  you,  that  poor 
Brutus,  with  himself  at  war,  forgets  to  show  his  love  to  other  men." 

"  O  Brutus,  would  that  you  had  some  mirror  which  might  reflect  your  real 
worth  unto  yourself.  I  have  often  heard  it  wished  by  some  of  the  greatest  men 
in  Rome,  groaning  under  the  burdens  of  this  age,  that  the  noble  Brutus  could  but 
see  himself  as  others  see  him." 

"  Into  what  dangers  would  you  lead  me,  Cassius,  that  you  would  have  me  look 
into  myself  for  that  which  is  not  in  me  ?  " 

"Well,  good  Brutus,  hear  me.  I  will  be  your  mirror,  and  will  show  you  to 
yourself.  And  do  not  view  me  with  suspicion,  gentle  friend ;  but,  remember,  I 
am  serious-minded,  like  yourself,  and  not  one  of  those  fickle,  boasting  revellers 
whom  you  might  fear  to  trust." 

Just  at  this  moment  a  great  shout  is  heard  from  the  feast  of  the  Lupercalia, 
whither  the  procession  and  the  crowd  have  gone,  and  the  patriot  Brutus,  now 
thoroughly  aroused,  betrays  the  nature  of  his  secret  anxiety  by  exclaiming,  — 

What  means  this  shouting?     I  do  fear  the  people 
Choose  Caesar  for  their  king  ! 

This  is  the  tempter's  opportunity,  and  he  seizes  it :  — 

Ay,  do  you  fear  it  ? 
Then  must  I  think  you  would  not  have  it  so. 

Then  Cassius  breaks  forth  into  a  thoroughly  hearty  strain  of  hatred  and  con- 
tempt, thinly  disguised  as  patriotism  :  — 

I  cannot  tell  what  you  and  other  men 

Think  of  this  life  ;  but,  for  my  single  self, 

I  had  as  lief  not  be  as  live  to  be 

In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 

I  was  born  free  as  Caesar ;  so  were  you : 


JULIUS    CAESAR.  159 

We  both  have  fed  as  well ;  and  we  can  both 

Endure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  as  he  : 

For  once,  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 

The  troubled  Tiber  chafing  with  her  shores, 

Caesar  said  to  me,  "  Darest  thou,  Cassius,  now 

Leap  in  with  me  into  this  angry  flood, 

And  swim  to  yonder  point  ?  " —  Upon  the  word, 

Accoutred  as  I  was,  I  plunged  in, 

And  bade  him  follow  :  so,  indeed,  he  did. 

The  torrent  roared,  and  we  did  buffet  it 

With  lusty  sinews,  throwing  it  aside, 

And  stemming  it  with  hearts  of  controversy,a 

But  ere  we  could  arrive  b  the  point  proposed, 

Caesar  cried,  "  Help  me,  Cassius,  or  I  sink." 

I,  as  /Eneas,  our  great  ancestor, 

Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder 

The  old  Anchises  bear,  so  from  the  waves  of  Tiber 

Did  I  the  tired  Csesar.     And  this  man 

Is  now  become  a  god;  and  Cassius  is 

A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body, 

If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 

He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 

And,  when  the  fit  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 

How  he  did  shake  :   't  is  true,  this  god  did  shake: 

His  coward  lips  did  from  their  color  fly  ; 

And  that  same  eye,  whose  bend x  cloth  awe  the  world, 

Did  lose  its  lustre.     I  did  hear  him  groan; 

Ay,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Romans 

Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 

Alas  !  it  cried,  "  Give  me  some  drink,  Titinius," 

As  a  sick  girl.     Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me, 

A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  2  should 

So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world, 

And  bear  the  palm  alone. 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  another  burst  of  tremendous  shout- 
ing, followed  by  a  triumphant  flourish  of  trumpets,  from  the  games  of  the  Luper- 
calia.     Brutus  listened  anxiously  for  a  moment,  then  frowned,  and  said,  — 

Another  general  shout  ! 
I  do  believe  that  these  applauses  are 
For  some  new  honors  that  are  heaped  on  Csesar. 


1  Glance.  2  Temperament,  disposition. 

a  That  is,  with  contending,  or  courageous  hearts. 
b  Old  form  for  arrive  at,  etc. 


l6o  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 

Casshis.   Why,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world, 
Like  a  Colossus  ; a  and  we  petty  men 
Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  peep  about 
To  find  ourselves  dishonorable  graves. 
Men  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fates : 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars,b 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 
Brutus  and  Casar  :  what  should  be  in  that  Ccesar  ? 
Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours  ? 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name  ; 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 
Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy  ;  conjure  with  them, 
Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  Ccesar. 
Now,  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 
Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great  ?     Age,  thou  art  shamed  : 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods  ! 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  famed  with  more  than  with  one  man? 
When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talked  of  Rome, 
That  her  wide  walls  encompassed  but  one  man  ? 
O,  you  and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say 
There  was  a  Brutus  once,  that  would  have  brooked  x 
The  eternal  devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome, 
As  easily  as  a  king. 

This  was  a  master  stroke  on  the  part  of  Cassius.  The  Brutus  here  alluded  to 
was  Lucius  Junius  Brutus,  who  had  headed  the  revolution  that  drove  the  first 
kings  out  of  Rome  more  than  five  hundred  years  before.  This  Brutus  considered 
himself  a  descendant  of  that  one  ;  and  such  a  man  would  desire  to  be  worthy  of 
a  noble  ancestry.     After  a  few  moments  of  troubled  silence,  he  replied,  — 

What  you  have  said, 
I  will  consider ;  what  you  have  to  say, 
I  will  with  patience  hear,  and  find  a  time 
Both  meet  to  hear  and  answer  such  high  things. 
Till  then,  my  noble  friend,  [reflect  on]  this : 
Brutus  had  rather  be  a  villager 
Than  to  repute  himself  a  son  of  Rome 

1  Endured. 

a  The  Colossus  was  one  of  the  Seven  Wonders  of  the  World.  It  was  a  bronze  statue, 
a  hundred  and  twenty  feet  high,  bestriding  the  harbor  at  Rhodes,  so  that  ships  passed  under 
its  legs. 

b  Our  stars  —  Astrology,  in  the  olden  time,  taught  that  the  stars  had  an  influence  on  the 
fortunes  of  men. 


JULIUS    CESAR.  l6l 

Under  such  hard  conditions  as  this  time 
Is  like  to  lay  upon  us. 

Cassius.  I  am  glad  that  my  weak  words 

Have  struck  but  thus  much  show  of  fire  from  Brutus. 

Brutus.    The  games  are  done,  and  Caesar  is  returning. 

Cassius.   As  they  pass  by,  pluck  Casca  by  the  sleeve  ; 
And  he  will,  after  his  sour  fashion,  tell  you 
What  hath  proceeded  worthy  note  to-day. 

Re-enter  Caesar  and  his  Train. 

Brutus.    I  will  do  so.  —  But,  look  you,  Cassius ; 
The  angry  spot  doth  glow  on  Caesar's  brow, 
And  all  the  rest  look  like  a  [scolded]  train. 
Calphurnia's  cheek  is  pale  ;  and  Cicero 
Looks  with  such  ferret a  and  such  fiery  eyes, 
As  we  have  seen  him  in  the  Capitol, 
[When]  crossed  in  conference  by  some  senator. 

Cassius.    Casca  will  tell  us  what  the  matter  is. 

The  procession  now  passed  through  the  square,  at  a  little  distance  from  where 
the  two  citizens  stood  conversing.  Csesar  appeared  for  some  reason  discontented, 
and  presently,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  the  spare  form  and  lowering  looks  of  Cassius, 
he  called  Mark  Antony  to  his  side. 

Ccesar.   Antonius  ! 

Antony.    Caesar  ? 

Ccesar.   Let  me  have  men  about  me  that  are  fat ; 
Sleek-headed  men,  and  such  as  sleep  o'  nights. 
Yond  Cassius  has  a  lean  and  hungry  look  ; 
He  thinks  too  much  :  such  men  are  dangerous." 

Antony.   Fear  him  not,  Caesar,  he  's  not  dangerous. 
He  is  a  noble  Roman,  and  well  given.1 

Ccesar.   Would  he  were  fatter  !  but  I  fear  him  not  : 
Yet,  if  my  name  were  liable  to  fear, 
I  do  not  know  the  man  I  should  avoid 
So  soon  as  that  spare  Cassius.     He  reads'  much ; 
He  is  a  great  observer,  and  he  looks 
Quite  through  the  deeds  of  men :  he  loves  no  plays, 
As  thou  dost,  Antony  ;  he  hears  no  music  : 
Seldom  he  smiles,  and  smiles  in  such  a  sort, 


1  Disposed. 

"•  The  ferret  is  a  ferocious  little  animal  of  the  weasel  kind,  noted  for  its  fire-red  eyes. 

b  According  to  Plutarch,  Csesar  actually  made  use  of  this  language.  He  said,  in  answer 
to  some  friends,  who  warned  him  against  Antony  and  Dolabella  as  dangerous,  "  As  for  those 
fat  men  and  smooth-combed  heads,  I  never  reckon  of  them  ;  but  these  pale-visaged  and  car- 
rion-lean people,  I  fear  them  most,"  —  meaning  Brutics  and  Cassius,  adds  the  historian. 


162  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

As  if  he  mocked  himself,  and  scorned  his  spirit 
That  could  be  moved  to  smile  at  anything. 
Such  men  as  he  be  never  at  heart's  ease, 
While  they  behold  a  greater  than  themselves, 
And  therefore  are  they  very  dangerous. 
I  rather  tell  thee  what  is  to  be  feared, 
Than  what  I  fear,  for  always  I  am  Caesar. 
Come  on  my  right  hand,  for  this  ear  is  deaf, 
And  tell  me  truly  what  thou  think'st  of  him. 

So  the  train  passed  on  ;  but  Casca,  an  enemy  of  Caesar,  and  one  who  con- 
cealed under  a  rude  and  careless  manner  a  deeply  dangerous  disposition,  in  obe- 
dience to  a  sign  from  Brutus  remained  behind. 

Casca.   You  pulled  me  by  the  cloak  :  would  you  speak  with  me  ? 
Brutus.    Ay,  Casca  ;  tell  us  what  hath  chanced  to-day, 
That  Caesar  looks  so  [grave]. 


Casca.   Why,  you  were  with  him,  were  you  not  ? 

Brutus.    I  should  not  then  ask  Casca  what  hath  chanced.  _ 

Casca.    Why,  there  was  a  crown  offered  him  :  and,  being  offered  him,  he  put  it  by 
with  the  back  of  his  hand,  thus  ;  and  then  the  people  fell  a  shouting. 


JULIUS    OESAR.  163 

Bruizes.    What  was  the  second  noise  for  ? 

Casca.    Why,  for  that  too. 

Cassius.    They  shouted  thrice  :  what  was  the  last  cry  for  ? 

Casca.    Why,  for  that  too. 

Brutus.    Was  the  crown  offered  him  thrice  ? 

Casca.  Ay,  marry,  was  it,  and  he  put  it  by  thrice,  every  time  gentler  than  the 
other  ;  and  at  every  putting-by  mine  honest  neighbors  shouted. 

Cassius.   Who  offered  him  the  crown  ? 

Casca.    Why,  Antony. 

Brutus.   Tell  us  the  manner  of  it,  gentle  Casca. 

Casca.  I  can  as  well  be  hanged,  as  tell  the  manner  of  it  :  it  was  mere  foolery  ;  I 
did  not  mark  it.  I  saw  Mark  Antony  offer  him  a  crown:  — yet  'twas  not  a  crown 
neither,  't  was  one  of  these  coronets, a —  and,  as  I  told  you,  he  put  it  by  once:  but,  for 
all  that,  to  my  thinking,  he  would  fain  have  had  it.  Then  he  offered  it  to  him  again  ; 
then  he  put  it  by  again  :  but,  to  my  thinking,  he  was  very  loth  to  lay  his  fingers 
off  it.  And  then  he  offered  it  the  third  time  :  he  put  it  the  third  time  by  ;  and  still,  as 
he  refused  it,  the  rabblement  shouted,  and  clapped  their  chopped  hands,  and  threw 
up  their  [dirty]  caps,  and  uttered  such  a  deal  of  [bad]  breath,  because  Caesar  refused 
the  crown,  that  it  had  almost  choked  Caesar  ;  for  he  swooned,  and  fell  down  at 
it.  And  for  mine  own  part  I  durst  not  laugh,  for  fear  of  opening  my  lips,  and  receiv- 
ing the  bad  air. 

Cassius.    What !  did  Caesar  swoon  ? 

Casca.  He  fell  down  in  the  market-place,  and  foamed  at  mouth,  and  was 
speechless. 

Brutus.    'T  is  very  like  ;  he  hath  the  falling-sickness. b 

Cassius.    No,  Caesar  hath  it  not ;  but  you,  and  I, 

And  honest  Casca,  we  have  the  falling-sickness.0 

Casca.    I  know  not  what  you  mean  by  that ;  but,  I  am  sure,  Caesar  fell  down. 

Brutus.    What  said  he,  when  he  came  unto  himself  ? 

Casca.  When  he  came  to  himself  again,  he  said,  if  he  had  done  or  said  anything 
amiss,  he  desired  their  worships  to  think  it  was  his  infirmity.  Three  or  four  wenches, 
where  I  stood,  cried,  "  Alas,  good  soul !  "  —  and  forgave  him  with  all  their  hearts. 
But  there  's  no  heed  to  be  taken  of  them  :  if  Caesar  had  stabbed  their  mothers,  they 
would  have  done  no  less. 

Brutus.    And  after  that,  he  came  thus  sad  away  ? 

Casca.  Ay.  —  I  could  tell  you  more  news,  too  :  Marullus  and  Flavius,  for  pulling 
scarfs  off  Caesar's  images,  are  put  to  silence.*  Fare  you  well :  there  was  more  foolery 
yet,  if  I  could  remember  it. 

Cassius.    Will  you  sup- with  me  to-night,  Casca  ? 

Casca.    No,  I  am  [engaged]. 

Cassius.    Will  you  dine  with  me  to-morrow  ? 

a  It  has  been  suggested  that  Caesar  allowed  this  offer  to  be  made,  to  test  the  people. 
b  Epilepsy;  a  disease  which  causes  those  who  suffer  from  it  to  fall  suddenly  to  the 
ground.     Caesar  was  subject  to  it  in  his  later  years. 

c  Meaning  the  disease  of  prostrating  themselves  before  Caesar. 
d  Deprived  of  their  offices. 


164  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 

Casca.    Ay,  if  I  be  alive,  and  your  mind  hold,  and  your  dinner  worth  the  eating. 
Cassius.    Good  ;   I  will  expect  you. 
Casca.    Do  so.     Farewell,  both. 

After  Casca  had  left,  Brutus  said  with  a  smile,  — 

What  a  [dull]  fellow  is  this  grown  to  be  ! 

He  was  quick  [witted]  when  he  went  to  school. 

Cassius.    So  is  he  now,  in  execution 
Of  any  bold  or  noble  enterprise. 
This  rudeness  is  a  sauce  to  his  good  wit. 

Brutus.    And  so  it  is.     For  this  time  I  will  leave  you. 
To-morrow,  if  you  please  to  speak  with  me, 
I  will  come  home  to  you ;  or,  if  you  will, 
Come  home  to  me,  and  I  will  wait  for  you. 

Cassius.    I  will  do  so  :  —  till  then,  think  of  the  world. 

Brutus  went  away,  thinking  of  the  Roman  world,  which  seemed  to  him  to  be 
resting  under  a  dark  cloud,  and  left  the  brooding  Cassius  to  himself.  Cassius  smiled 
grimly,  as  he  thought  how  easily  he  was  moulding  this  noble  Roman  to  his  wish 
by  simply  playing  on  his  better  nature,  —  his  love  of  country  and  of  liberty,  —  and 
on  his  weaknesses  of  personal  vanity  and  pride  of  ancestry.  Still,  it  was  needful 
to  be  cautious,  because  of  the  great  love  Brutus  was  known  to  bear  to  Caesar ;  but 
if  the  patriot  could  be  made  to  feel  that  Csesar  was  wronging  Rome,  it  might  be 
possible  to  win  him.     Musing  on  this,  Cassius  said,  — 

I  will  this  night  * 

In  at  his  windows  throw  (in  several  hands, 
As  if  they  came  from  several  citizens) 
Writings,  all  tending  to  the  great  opinion 
That  Rome  holds  of  his  name  ;  wherein  obscurely 
Caesar's  ambition  shall  be  glanced  at : 
And,  after  this,  let  Caesar  seat  him  sure, 
For  we  will  shake  him,  or  worse  days  endure. 


IV. 


Act  I.     Scene  3. 


j|HAT  night  a  terrible  tempest  of  thunder  and  lightning  swept 
over  the  city.  The  whole  earth  seemed  shaken,  and  the 
heavens  were  dropping  fire,  as  if  the  gods,  angry  with  the 
world,  were  threatening  its  destruction.  Those  who  by 
chance  were  in  the  streets  told  each  other  of  wonderful 
sights.  Casca,  with  a  drawn  sword,  breathless,  as  if  just 
escaped  from  some  great  danger,  and  staring  wildly  as  if 


in  dread  of  some  new  peril,  rushed  into  the  public  square  at  the  same  moment 
that  Cicero,  one  of  the  Roman  senators,  entered  it  from  the  other  side.     Casca 
has  laid  aside  his  affected  indifference 
now. 

"  O  Cicero,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I 
have  seen  tempests  when  the  winds 
split  knotty  oaks ;  I  have  seen  the 
ocean  swell,  and  rage,  and  foam, 
until  it  reached  the  sky ;  but  never 
such  a  night  as  this  till  now.  The 
very  skies  rain  fire  !  I  met  a  slave 
whose  hands  did  flame  and  burn 
like  twenty  torches,  and  yet  re- 
mained unscorched  !  I  drew  my 
sword  against  a  lion  that  I  met  near 
the  Capitol ;  but  he  only  glared  at 
me,  and  then  went  by,  without  offering  to  harm  me.  A  hundred  women,  pale 
with  terror,  drawn  together  in  a  crowd,  swore  they  saw  men  on  fire  walking 
through  the  streets.  Yesterday,  at  noon,  an  owl  sat  hooting  and  shrieking  in  the 
market-place  !     These  are  fearful  omens  !  " 


166  SHAKESPEARE   FOR  THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 

"They  are  indeed  wonderful,"  rejoined  Cicero,  "  but  yet  may  not  mean  evil. 
Men  are  very  apt  to  misinterpret  such  things.  —  Does  Caesar  come  to  the  Capitol 
to-morrow?  " 

"  He  does  ;  and  he  bade  Mark  Antony  send  word  to  you  to  meet  him  there." 
"  Good  night,  then,  Casca  :  this  is  no  night  for  men  to  walk  in." 
After  the  departure  of  Cicero,  Casca  was  joined  by  Cassius.  They  talked 
about  the  strange  events  of  the  night,  and  their  possible  meaning.  To  the  mind 
of  Cassius,  all  events  conspired  to  feed  his  burning  hate  of  Caesar.  Though  the 
night  was  terrible  with  its  fires  and  ghosts,  strange  birds  and  beasts,  yet  there 
was  one  man  more  to  be  dreaded  than  even  these  tokens  of  the  wrath  of  the 
gods ;  the  thunder,  the  lightning,  and  the  lion  in  the  Capitol,  all  betokened  only 
Ccesar. 

"  O  Casca,"  he  cried,  "  though  Romans  still  have  limbs  and  sinews  like  their 
ancestors,  our  fathers'  minds  are  dead,  and  we  are  governed  by  our  mothers' 
spirits ;  else  would  we  never  suffer  underneath  this  yoke  !  " 

"They  say,  indeed,"  replied  Casca,  "that  the  senators  to-morrow  mean  to 
establish  Caesar  as  a  king ;  and  he  shall  wear  his  crown  by  sea  and  land,  in  every 
place,  save  here  in  Italy  !  " 

Cassius.    I  know  where  I  will  wear  this  dagger  then; 
Cassius  from  bondage  will  deliver  Cassius. 
That  part  of  tyranny  that  I  do  bear 
I  can  shake  off  at  pleasure. 

Casca.  So  can  I : 

So  every  bondman  in  his  own  hand  bears 
The  power  to  cancel  his  captivity. 

Cassius.    And  why  should  Caesar  be  a  tyrant  then  ? 
Poor  man  !  I  know  he  would  not  be  a  wolf, 
But  that  he  sees  the  Romans  are  but  sheep : 
He  were  no  lion,  were  not  Romans  hinds. 

—  But,  O  grief  ! 
Where  hast  thou  led  me  ?     I  perhaps  speak  this 
Before  a  willing  bondman :  then  I  know 
My  answer  must  be  made  ;  but  I  am  armed, 
And  dangers  are  to  me  indifferent. 

Casca.  You  speak  to  Casca  ;  and  to  such  a  man 
That  is  no  [fawning]  tell-tale.     [Here  's]  my  hand : 
Be  [active]  for  redress  of  all  these  griefs, 
And  I  will  set  this  foot  of  mine  as  far, 
As  who  goes  farthest. 

Cassius.  There  's  a  bargain  made. 

Now  know  you,  Casca,  I  have  moved  already 
Some  certain  of  the  noblest-minded  Romans, 
To  [undertake]  with  me  an  enterprise 
Of  honorable-dangerous  consequence ; 


JULIUS    OESAR.  ifry 

And  I  do  know,  by  this,  they  stay  for  me 
In  Pompey's  porch.1 

While  they  are  thus  talking,  another  footstep  is  heard  approaching  in  the 
darkness.     "  Stand  close  awhile,"  said  Casca,  "  for  here  comes  one  in  haste." 

Cassius.  'T  is  Cinna,  I  do  know  him  by  his  gait : 
He  is  a  friend.  — Cinna,  where  haste  you  so  ? 

Cinna.  To  find  out  you.     Who  's  that  ?     Metellus  Cimber  ? 
Cassius.    No,  it  is  Casca ;  one  [who  joins  with  us 
In]  our  attempt. 

Cinna.    I  am  glad  on  't.     What  a  fearful  night  is  this  ! 
There  's  two  or  three  of  us  have  seen  strange  sights. 
Cassius.  Am  I  not  stayed  for  ?     Tell  me. 
Cinna.  Yes,  you  are. 

O  Cassius  !  if  you  could  but  win  the  noble  Brutus 
To  our  party,  — 

Cassius.    Be  you  content.     Good  Cinna,  take  this  paper, 

[Producing  several  slips  of  paper. 
And  look  you  lay  it  in  the  praetor's  b  chair, 
Where  Brutus  may  but  find  it ;  and  throw  this 
In  at  his  window ;  set  this  up  with  wax 
Upon  old  Brutus'  °  statue  :  all  this  done, 
Repair  to  Pompey's  porch,  where  you  shall  find  us. 
Is  Decius  Brutus,  and  Trebonius,  there  ? 

Cinna.   All  but  Metellus  Cimber,  and  he  's  gone 
To  seek  you  at  your  house.     Well,  I  will  [haste], 
And  so  bestow  these  papers  as  you  bade  me. 
Cassius.  That  done,  repair  to  Pompey's  theatre. 

[Cinna  goes  out. 
Come,  Casca,  you  and  I  will  yet,  ere  day, 
See  Brutus  at  his  house :  three  parts  of  him 
Is  ours  already ;  and  the  man  entire, 
Upon  the  next  encounter,  yields  him  ours. 

Casca.   O,  he  sits  high  in  all  the  people's  hearts ; 
And  that  which  would  appear  offence  in  us, 
His  countenance,  like  richest  alchemy,4 
Will  change  to  virtue,  and  to  worthiness. 


a  Pompey's  Porch  —  A  large  building  connected  with  the  theatre  built  by  Pompey. 

b  Brutus  was  at  this  time  praetor,  or  magistrate,  in  Rome. 

c  This  was  the  statue  of  Lucius  Junius  Brutus,  who  drove  the  Tarquins  out  of  Rome. 
Plutarch  tells  us  that  one  of  these  papers  read,  Would  that  thou  wert  now  alive  !  and  that  the 
praetor's  chair  was  full  of  these  bills,  with  Brutus,  thou  art  asleep  !  and  Thou  art  not  Brutus, 
indeed,  written  on  them. 

d  Alchemy  was  the  art  by  which  the  philosophers  of  old  hoped  to  turn  base  metals  into 
gold.     It  was  the  source  of  the  truer  science  of  Chemistry. 


1 68  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE    YOUNG    FOLK. 

Cassius.    Him,  and  his  worth,  and  our  great  need  of  him 
You  have  right  well  [conceived].     Let  us  go, 
For  it  is  after  midnight :   and,  ere  day, 
We  will  awake  him,  and  be  sure  of  him. 

Then  they  made  their  way  through  the  tempestuous  night  to  the  house  of 
Brutus. 


BRUTUS   IN    HIS   GARDEN. 


Act  II.     Scene  i. 

1  HEN  Brutus  went  home,  after  his  interview  with  Cassius,  he  had 
little  inclination  to  sleep.     Instead,  therefore,  of  going  to  bed,  he 
walked  in  his  garden,  wrapped  in  deep  thought,  and  striving  to 
reconcile  his  love  for  the  man  Julius  with  his  duty  to  check  the 
strides  of  the  great  Dictator  towards  royal  power. 


170         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

At  length  he  called  to  his  page,  — 

What,  Lucius,  ho  !  — 

I  cannot,  by  the  progress  of  the  stars, 

Give  guess  how  near  to  day.  —  Lucius,  I  say  !  — 

I  would  it  were  my  fault  to  sleep  so  soundly.  — 

Lucius,  awake  !     [Why,]  Lucius  ! 

The  lad  entered,  rubbing  his  eyes,  and  drowsily  replying,  — 

Called  you,  my  lord  ? 

Brutus.    Get  me  a  taper  in  my  study,  Lucius. 
When  it  is  lighted,  come  and  call  me  here. 

While  the  lad  sought  the  taper,  the  thoughts  of  Brutus  returned  to  Caesar,  the 
danger  that  threatened  Rome  through  his  ambition,  and  the  ways  in  which  the 
evil  might  be  remedied.  At  last  he  broke  out  thus  :  "  It  must  be  by  his  death. 
I  cannot  see  how  it  may  be  avoided.  Personally,  I  have  no  complaint  to  make 
of  him ;  but,  in  view  of  the  general  good,  it  is  impossible  to  spare  him.  It  is  not 
what  he  is,  but  what  he  might  become.  He  wants  to  be  crowned,  and  that  might 
change  his  nature.  It  is  the  bright  day  that  brings  forth  the  adder :  so  the  sun- 
shine of  royalty  might  reveal  the  serpent  of  tyranny  in  Csesar.  Then,  lest  it  may, 
we  must  treat  him  as  the  serpent's  egg,  and  kill  him  in  the  shell." 

While  he  was  thus  arguing  with  himself,  the  boy  returned,  bearing  a  sealed 
paper  in  his  hand,  and  said,  — 

The  taper  burnetii  in  your  closet,  sir. 

Searching  the  window  for  a  flint,  I  found 

This  paper,  thus  sealed  up  :  and  I  am  sure 

It  did  not  lie  there  when  I  went  to  bed.  [Giving  him  the  paper. 

Brutus. .  Get  you  to  bed  again  ;  it  is  not  day. 
Is  not  to-morrow,  boy,  the  ides  of  March  ? 

Lucius.    I  know  not,  sir. 

Brutus.    Look  in  the  calendar,  and  bring  me  word. 

Lucius.    I  will,  sir.  [Exit. 

Brutus.    [These  fiery  meteors],  whizzing  in  the  air, 
Give  so  much  light  that  I  may  read  by  them. 

[Opens  the  paper,  and  reads. 
Brutus,  thou  steepest :  awake,  and  see  thyself. 
Shall  Rome,  et  cetera.     Speak,  strike,  redress  /  — 
"  Brutus,  thou  sleep'st :  awake  !  "  — 
Such  instigations  have  been  often  dropped 
Where  I  have  took  them  up. 

"  Shall  Rome,  et  cetera.'1''     Thus  must  I  piece  it  out : 
Shall  Rome  stand  under  one  man's  awe  ?     What !  Rome  ? 
My  ancestors  did  from  the  streets  of  Rome 
The  Tarquin  drive,  when  he  was  called  a  king. 


JULIUS    CAESAR.  171 

"  Speak,  strike,  redress  !  "  —  Am  I  entreated 

To  speak,  and  strike  ?     O  Rome  !   I  make  thee  promise, 

If  the  redress  will  follow,  thou  receivest 

Thy  full  petition  at  the  hand  of  Brutus  ! 

By  this  time  Lucius,  having  consulted  the  calendar,  returns  and  reports  to 
Brutus  :  "  Sir,  March  is  wasted  fourteen  days." 

" 'T  is  good,"  answered  the  master;  and  then,  hearing  a  knocking  outside, 
he  added,  "  Go  to  the  gate  ;  somebody  knocks."  Lucius  goes  to  the  outer  door, 
and  Brutus  continues  his  soliloquy. 

Since  Cassius  first  did  whet  me  against  Caesar, 
I  have  not  slept. 

Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  thing 
And  the  first  [impulse],  all  the  interim  is 
Like  a  [dark]  phantasm,  or  a  hideous  dream. 
The  genius  and  the  mortal  instruments  a 
Are  then  in  council ;  and  the  state  of  man, 
Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then 
The  nature  of  an  insurrection. 

Lucius  [returning  from  the  gate].    Sir,  't  is  your  brother  Cassius  at  the  door, 
Who  doth  desire  to  see  you. 

Brutus.  Is  he  alone  ? 

Lucius.    No,  sir,  there  are  more  with  him. 

Brutus.  Do  you  know  them  ? 

Lucius.    No,  sir  ;  their  hats  are  plucked  about  their  ears, 
And  half  their  faces  buried  in  their  cloaks, 
That  by  no  means  I  may  discover  them 
By  any  mark  of  favor.1 

Brutus.  Let  them  enter. 

They  are  the  faction.     O  Conspiracy  ! 
Sham'st  thou  to  show  thy  dangerous  brow  by  night, 
When  evils  are  most  free  ?     O,  then,  by  day 
Where  wilt  thou  find  a  cavern  dark  enough 
To  mask  thy  monstrous  visage  ? 

The  conspirators,  with  their  faces  hidden,  now  enter  cautiously.  Cassius 
names  them  as  they  draw  near  to  Brutus  :  Trebonius,  Decius  Brutus,  Casca, 
Cinna,  and  Metellus  Cimber.  Brutus  greets  them  cordially,  and,  in  token  of 
sympathy,  takes  them  each  by  the  hand.  Cassius  v  proposes  that  they  shall  all 
bind  themselves  by  a  solemn  oath ;  but  to  this  Brutus  refuses  his  consent. 

"  No,  not  an  oath,"  he  said  ;  "if  neither  shame,  nor  suffering,  nor  the  condi- 
tion of  our  country,  is  motive  strong  enough,  let  us  break  off  betimes,  and  every 
man  hence  to  his  idle  bed.     But  if  these,  as  I  am  sure  they  do,  bear  fire  enough 

1  Countenance.  a  The  soul  and  the  deadly  passions. 


BRUTUS    AND   THE    CONSPIRATORS. 


JULIUS    OFLSAR.  173 

to  kindle  cowards  and  to  steel  with  valor  the  melting  spirits  of  women,  then, 
countrymen, 

What  need  we  any  spur  but  our  own  cause 
To  prick  us  to  redress  ?     What  other  bond 
Than  secret  Romans,  that  have  spoke  the  word, 
And  will  not  palter  ?  and  what  other  oath 
Than  honesty  to  honesty  engaged 
That  this  shall  be,  or  we  will  fall  for  it  ? 

Do  not  stain  our  courage  or  our  cause  with  oaths,  when  every  drop  of  blood  in 
every  Roman's  heart  is  false,  if  he  do  break  the  smallest  particle  of  any  promise 
he  hath  given." 

Decius.    Shall  no  man  else  be  touched,  but  only  Caesar  ? 

Cassius.  Decius,  well  urged. —  I  think  it  is  not  meet, 
Mark  Antony,  so  well  beloved  of  Caesar, 
Should  outlive  Caesar  :  we  shall  find  of  him 
A  shrewd  contriver  ;  and,  you  know,  his  means, 
If  he  improve  them,  may  well  stretch  so  far 
As  to  [destroy]  us  all ;  which  to  prevent, 
Let  Antony  and  Caesar  fall  together. 

Brutus.    Our  course  will  seem  too  bloody,  Caius  Cassius, 
To  cut  the  head  off,  and  then  hack  the  limbs, 
Like  wrath  in  death,  and  [hatred]  afterwards ; 
For  Antony  is  but  a  limb  of  Caesar. 
Let  us  be  sacrificers,  but  not  butchers,  Caius. 
We  all  stand  up  against  the  spirit  of  Caesar, 
And  in  the  spirit  of  men  there  is  no  blood: 
O,  that  we  then  could  come  by  Caesar's  spirit, 
And  not  dismember  Caesar  !     But,  alas  ! 
Caesar  must  bleed  for  it.     And,  gentle  friends, 
Let 's  kill  him  boldly,  but  not  wrathf ully  ; 
Let 's  carve  him  as  a  dish  fit  for  the  gods, 
Not  hew  him  as  a  carcass  fit  for  hounds  : 
And  for  Mark  Antony,  think  not  of  him, 
For  he  can  do  no  more  than  Caesar's  arm, 
When  Caesar's  head  is  off. 

Cassius.  Yet  I  do  fear  him  : 

For  in  the  [fixed]  love  he  bears  to  Caesar  — 

Brutus.    Alas  !  good  Cassius,  do  not  think  of  him. 
If  he  love  Caesar,  all  that  he  can  do 
Is  to  himself  ;  take  thought  and  die  *  for  Caesar  : 
And  that  were  much  he  should ;  for  he  is  given 
To  sports,  to  wildness,  and  much  company. 


Take  thought  and  die— An  old  expression  for  grieve  one's  self  to  death. 


174         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Trebonins.   There  is  no  fear a  in  him  ;  let  him  not  die, 
For  he  will  live,  and  laugh  at  this  hereafter.  {Clock  strikes. 

Brutus.    Peace  !  count  the  clock. 

Cassius.  The  clock  hath  stricken  three. 

Trebonius.   'T  is  time  to  part. 

Cassius.  But  it  is  doubtful  yet, 

Whether  Caesar  will  come  forth  to-day,  or  no  ; 
For  he  is  superstitious  grown  of  late, 
Quite  [different  from]  the  opinion  he  held  once. 
It  may  be,  these  apparent  prodigies, 
The  unaccustomed  terror  of  this  night, 
And  the  persuasion  of  his  augurers, 
May  hold  him  from  the  Capitol  to-day. 

Decius.    Never  fear  that :  if  he  be  so  resolved, 
I  can  o'ersway  him  :  let  me  work ; 
For  I  can  give  his  humor  the  true  bent, 
And  I  will  bring  him  to  the  Capitol. 

Cassius.    Nay,  we  will  all  of  us  be  there  to  fetch  him. 

Brutus.   By  the  eighth  hour  :  is  that  the  uttermost  ? 

Cinna.    Be  that  the  uttermost,  and  fail  not  then. 

Metellus.    Caius  Ligarius  doth  bear  Caesar  hard,b 
Who  rated  him  for  speaking  well  of  Pompey : 
I  wonder  none  of  you  have  thought  of  him. 

Brutus.    Now,  good  Metellus,  go  along  by  him.0 
He  loves  me  well,  and  I  have  given  him  reasons ; 
Send  him  but  hither,  and  I  '11  fashion. him. 

Cassius.  The  morning  comes  upon  us  :  we  '11  leave  you,  Brutus.  — 
And,  friends,  disperse  yourselves  ;  but  all  remember 
What  you  have  said,  and  show  yourselves  true  Romans. 

Brutus.   Good  gentlemen,  look  fresh  and  merrily  : 
Let  not  our  looks  [betray]  our  purposes. 
And  so,  good-morrow  to  you  every  one. 

The  conspirators  went  away  as  cautiously  as  they  came,  leaving  Brutus  once 
more  alone,  but  for  the  sleeping  Lucius.  Brutus  looks  at  him  kindly,  glad  that 
there  is  one  in  the  world  whom  care  does  not  make  wakeful.  As  he  stands,  silent 
and  thoughtful,  his  beloved  wife,  the  noble  Portia,  whose  anxiety  has  kept  her 
from  sleeping,  comes  out  with  a  light,  anxiously  seeking  him.  She  reproaches 
him  gently  for  leaving  her,  and  begs  him  to  tell  her  his  secret  trouble. 

It  will  not  let  you  eat,  nor  talk,  nor  sleep  ; 
And,  could  it  work  so  much  upon  your  shape, 
As  it  hath  [done  upon  your  disposition], 

*  That  is,  there  is  no  cause  of  fear  in  him. 

b  Owes  Caesar  a  grudge.  °  By  his  house. 


JULIUS    OESAR. 

I  should  not  know  you,  Brutus.     Dear  my  lord, 
Make  me  acquainted  with  your  cause  of  grief. 

Brutus.    1  am  not  well  in  health,  and  that  is  all. 

Portia.    Brutus  is  wise,  and  were  he  not  in  health, 
He  would  embrace  the  means  to  come  by  it. 

Brutus.    Why,  so  I  do.  —  Good  Portia,  go  to  bed. 


175 


Portia  entreated  Brutus,  by  all  the  love  he  had  vowed  to  her,  by  the  beauty 
he  had  so  often  praised,  by  the  sacred  name  of  wife,  to  share  with  her  the  burden 
that  weighed  so  heavily  upon  his  mind.  She  kneeled  to  him  in  her  entreaty, 
begging  him  to  tell  her  who  were  the  men  that  had  come  to  him  that  night  with 
their  faces  hidden. 

"  Kneel  not,  gentle  Portia,"  he  said,  as  he  raised  and  lovingly  embraced 
her. 

"  I  should  not  need  to  kneel,  if  you  were  gentle  Brutus,"  Portia  softly  an- 
swered. "  Tell  me,  my  Brutus,  am  I  not  your  true  and  faithful  wife  ?  Is  not  my 
home  deep  down  within  your  heart  ?  and  shall  I  not  share  its  pain  and  grief  as 
well  as  its  joys?  " 

Brutus.    You  are  my  true  and  honorable  wife ; 
As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart. 

Portia.    If  this  were  true,  then  should  I  know  this  secret. 
I  grant  I  am  a  woman;  but,  withal, 
A  woman  that  Lord  Brutus  took  to  wife  : 
I  grant  I  am  a  woman  ;  but,  withal, 
A  woman  well  reputed,  Cato's  daughter. 
Think  you  I  am  no  stronger  than  my  sex, 
Being  so  fathered  and  so  husbanded  ? 
Tell  me  your  counsels,  I  will  not  disclose  them. 

Brutus.  O  ye  gods  ! 

Render  me  worthy  of  this  noble  wife.  [Knocking  within. 


176  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE    YOUNG    FOLK. 

Hark  !  [some]  one  knocks.     Portia,  go  in  a  while  ; 

And  by  and  by  thy  bosom  shall  partake 

The  secrets  of  my  heart.     Leave  me  with  haste. 

Obedient  to  her  husband's  will,  Portia  withdrew  as  Lucius  entered,  ushering 
in  a  tottering  form,  with  pale  face  and  bandaged  head. 

"  Here  is  a  sick  man  who  would  speak  with  you,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Caius  Ligarius,  that  Metellus  spake  of,"  exclaimed  Brutus.  "  O,  what  a  time, 
brave  Caius,  have  you  chosen  to  be  sick  !  " 

"  I  am  not  sick,  if  Brutus  have  any  honorable  work  in  hand,"  replied  Ligarius. 

"  I  have  indeed  such  work  in  hand,  Ligarius,  if  you  were  well  enough  to  hear 
of  it." 

"  Then,  by  all  the  gods  that  Romans  bow  before,  I  here  discard  my  sickness," 
cried  the  invalid,  throwing  away  his  bandage.  "  Soul  of  Rome  !  thou  hast  called 
back  my  failing  powers  to  life.  Now  bid  me  run,  and  strive  with  things  impos- 
sible.    What 's  to  be  done? " 

"A  piece  of  work  that  will  make  sick  men  whole." 

"But  are  there  not  some  whole  that  we  must  make  sick?"  asked  Ligarius, 
with  a  meaning  glance. 

"  That  must  we  also,"  answered  Brutus.  "  What  it  is,  my  Caius,  I  will  unfold 
to  thee  as  we  walk." 

"  Go  on  !  "  said  the  other,  "and  with  a  heart  new-fired  I  follow  you  —  to  do, 
I  know  not  what.     But  't  is  enough  that  Brutus  leads  me  on  !  " 

And  the  two  went  forth  to  join  the  other  conspirators. 


VI. 


Act  II.     Scenes  2-4. 

HROUGH  all  the  long  night  the  tempest  had  raged  with 
unabated  fury.  Calphurnia,  Caesar's  wife,  had  been  dis- 
turbed with  frightful  dreams,  and  had  cried  out  in  her  sleep 
that  they  were  "murdering  Caesar."  When  she  waked 
she  entreated  her  husband  to  remain  at  home,  and  not  to 
visit  the  Capitol  that  day.  In  vain  Caesar  tried  to  com- 
fort her  and  to  calm  her  fears.  He  sent  a  servant  to  the 
priests  to  bid  them  offer  sacrifice,  and  bring  him  word  if  the  omens  promised 
him  good  fortune.  "  Caesar  must  go  forth,"  he  said  ;  "dangers  that  threaten  me 
behind  my  back  will  vanish  when  they  see  my  face." 

"  O  Caesar,  there  have  been  horrid  sights  seen  by  the  watch.  A  lioness* 
whelped  in  the  street ;  graves  yawned  and  yielded  up  their  dead ;  there  have  been 
battles  in  the  air,  and  dropping  blood,  and  wailing  ghosts,  and  comets  blazing  in 
the  sky.     My  very  heart  stands  still  with  fear  !  " 

Caesar  replied,  — 

What  can  be  avoided 

Whose  end  is  purposed  by  the  mighty  gods  ? 
Yet  Caesar  shall  go  forth  ;  for  these  predictions 
Are  to  the  world  in  general,  as  to  Caesar. 
Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths  ; 
The  valiant  never  taste  of  death  but  once. 
Of  all  the  wonders  that  I  yet  have  heard, 
It  seems  to  me  most  strange  that  men  should  fear, 
Seeing  that  death,  a  necessary  end, 
Will  come,  when  it  will  come. 


Here  the  servant,  who  had  been  sent  to  the  priests,  returned.     "'  What  say  the 
^urers  ?  "  asked  Caesar. 


178  SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 

Servant.    They  would  not  have  you  to  stir  forth  to-day. 
Plucking  the  entrails  of  an  offering  forth, 
They  could  not  find  a  heart  within  the  beast. 

Ccssar.    The  gods  do  this  in  shame  of  cowardice  : 
Caesar  would  be  a  beast  without  a  heart, 
If  he  should  stay  at  home  to-day  for  fear. 
No,  Caesar  shall  not :   Danger  knows  full  well, 
That  Caesar  is  more  dangerous  than  he. 
We  are  two  lions  littered  in  one  day, 
And  I  the  elder  and  more  terrible ; 
And  Caesar  shall  go  forth. 

Calphumia.  Alas  !  my  lord, 

Your  wisdom  is  consumed  in  confidence. 
Do  not  go  forth  to-day :  call  it  my  fear 
That  keeps  you  in  the  house,  and  not  your  own. 
We  '11  send  Mark  Antony  to  the  Senate-house, 
And  he  shall  say  you  are  not  well  to-day : 
Let  me,  upon  my  knee,  prevail  in  this.  [Kneeling. 

Ccssar.    Mark  Antony  shall'say  I  am  not  well ; 
And,  [to  indulge  thee],  I  will  stay  at  home.  [Raising  her. 

At  this  moment  Decius  Brutus  entered,  intent  upon  his  purpose  of  persuading 
Caesar  to  the  Senate-house.     Caesar  continued,  — 

Here  's  Decius  Brutus,  he  shall  tell  them  so. 

Decius.    Caesar,  all  hail !  Good  morrow,  worthy  Caesar  : 
I  come  to  fetch  you  to  the  Senate-house. 

Ccssar.    And  you  are  come  in  very  happy  time 
To  bear  my  greeting  to  the  senators, 
And  tell  them  that  I  will  not  come  to-day. 
Cannot  is  false  ;  and  that  I  dare  not,  falser: 
I  will  not  come  to-day.     Tell  them  so,  Decius. 

Calphumia.  Say,  he  is  sick. 

Ccssar.  Shall  Caesar  send  a  lie  ? 

Have  I  in  conquest  stretched  mine  arm  so  far, 
To  be  afraid  to  tell  gray-beards  the  truth  ? 
Decius,  go  tell  them  Caesar  will  not  come. 

Decius.    Most  mighty  Caesar,  let  me  know  some  cause, 
Lest  I  be  laughed  at  when  I  tell  them  so. 

Ccssar.   The  cause  is  in  my  will ;  I  will  not  come  :     . 
That  is  enough  to  satisfy  the  senate ; 
But,  for  your  private  satisfaction, 
Because  I  love  you,  I  will  let  you  know. 
Calphumia  here,  my  wife,  stays  me  at  home  : 
She  dreamed  [last]  night  she  saw  my  statue, 
Which,  like  a  fountain  with  a  hundred  spouts, 
Did  run  pure  blood  ;  and  many  [stalwart]  Romans 


JULIUS    CAESAR.  1jq 

Came  smiling,  and  did  bathe  their  hands  in  it. 

And  these  does  she  apply  [as]  warnings,  and  portents 

Of  evils  imminent ;  and  on  her  knee 

Hath  begged  that  I  will  stay  at  home  to-day. 

Decius.    This  dream  is  all  amiss  interpreted  : 
It  was  a  vision  fair  and  fortunate. 
Your  statue  spouting  blood  in  many  pipes, 
In  which  so  many  smiling  Romans  bathed, 
[Betokens]  that  from  you  great  Rome  shall  suck 
Reviving  blood. 
This  by  Calphurnia's  dream  is  signified. 

Ccesar.    And  this  way  have  you  well  expounded  it. 

Decius.    I  have,  when  you  have  heard  what  I  can  say : 
And  know  it  now.     The  senate  have  concluded 
To  give  this  day  a  crown  to  mighty  Caesar : 
If  you  shall  send  them  word  you  will  not  come, 
Their  minds  may  change.     Besides,  it  were  a  mock 
Apt  to  be  rendered,  for  some  one  to  say, 
"  Break  up  the  senate  till  another  time, 
When  Caesar's  wife  shall  meet  with  better  dreams." 
If  Caesar  hide  himself,  shall  they  not  whisper, 
"  Lo  !  Caesar  is  afraid  "  ? 
Pardon  me,  Caesar;  for  my  [interest 
In  your  advancement]  bids  me  tell  you  this. 

Ccesar.    How  foolish  do  your  fears  seem  now,  Calphurnia ! 
I  am  ashamed  I  did  yield  to  them.  — 
Give  me  my  robe,  for  I  will  go  :  — 
And  look  where  Publius  is  come  to  fetch  me. 

This  Publius  was  not  one  of  the  conspirators.  He  had  only  happened  in  ;  but 
while  Caesar  spoke  six  of  the  league  came,  according  to  agreement,  to  join  Decius 
Brutus,  and  they  entered  the  palace  together,  as  if  to  escort  the  great  Dictator  to 
the  Capitol. 

While  they  were  exchanging  courteous  greetings,  Mark  Antony  also  entered. 
Little  dreaming  of  the  wicked  thoughts  that  filled  the  hearts  of  all  but  Publius 
and  Antony,  Caesar  offered  the  party  wine,  thanked  them  for  their  kindness,  and 
invited  them  to  go  with  him  to  the  Senate.  Brutus  alone  seemed  struggling  be- 
tween his  love  and  that  which  he  believed  to  be  a  higher  duty ;  but  they  all  left 
Caesar's  house  together,  and  went  toward  the  Senate-house. 

There  was  in  Rome  a  teacher  of  oratory,  named  Artemidorus.  This  man, 
being  on  intimate  terms  with  some  of  the  young  men  of  the  city,  had  learned 
something  of  the  plans  of  the  conspirators,  and  he  determined  to  warn  Caesar,  if 
possible.  It  was  difficult  to  obtain  a  personal  interview  with  him,  especially  on  so 
public  an  occasion.  It  was  customary,  however,  for  those  who  had  petitions  to  pre- 
sent to  stand  by  the  wayside  and  give  them  into  the  hand  of  Caesar  as  he  passed. 


l8o  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 

So  into  the  street,  near  the  Capitol,  came  Artemidorus,  with  this  letter  which  he  had 
carefully  prepared,  making  it  as  brief  and  alarming  as  possible,  hoping  thus  to 
catch  the  eye  of  Csesar,  and  perhaps  avert  the  impending  calamity.  He  read  it 
over  aloud  as  he  walked  :  — 

Ccesar,  beware  of Brutus ;  take  heed  of  Cassius  j  come  not  near  Casca;  have  an 
eye  to  Cinna;  trust  not  Trebonius  j  mark  well  Metellus  Citnber;  Decius  Brutus 
loves  thee  not;  thou  hast  wronged  Cants  Ligarius.  There  is  but  one  mind  in  all 
these  men,  and  it  is  bent  against  Ccesar.  If  thou  be'st  not  immortal,  look  about 
you:  \over-confidence  opens  the  way  for]  conspiracy.      The  mighty  gods  defetid  thee  / 

Thy  lover,"  Artemidorus. 

Here  will  I  stand  till  Caesar  pass  along, 

And  as  a  suitor  will  I  give  him  this. 

My  heart  laments  that  virtue  cannot  live 

Out  of  the  teeth  of  [envious  rivalry] . 

If  thou  read  this,  O  Caesar !  thou  mayst  live ; 

If  not,  the  fates  with  traitors  do  contrive. 

In  another  part  of  the  same  street  Brutus  lived,  and  Portia,  the  noble  Roman 
matron,  now  stood  before  her  house,  marking  every  little  occurrence,  and  listening 
for  every  sound,  her  faithful  heart  racked  with  anxiety  at  what  might  befall  her  be- 
loved husband.  Brutus  had,  since  their  interview  in  the  garden,  unbosomed  all  his 
secrets  to  her.  And  now  she  discovers  that,  though  a  glorious  woman,  she  is  still 
only  a  woman,  and  her  heart  is  not  strong  enough  for  the  burden  it  is  called  to 
bear.  She  knows  that  very  nearly  at  this  moment  the  great  transaction  is  to  take 
place.  Her  nerves  are  wrought  to  the  intensest  pitch  of  anxiety  and  suspense. 
Every  breeze  brings  to  her  ears  the  fancied  sounds  of  turmoil  and  affray.  She 
sends  Lucius  on  fruitless  errands  to  the  Senate-house,  forgetting  that  she  has  not 
even  told  him  why  he  is  to  go. 

Portia.    I  pr'ythee,  boy,  run  to  the  Senate-house  : 
Stay  not  to  answer  me,  but  get  thee  gone. 
Why  dost  thou  stay  ? 

Lucius.  To  know  my  errand,  madam. 

Portia.    I  would  have  had  thee  there,  and  here  again, 
Ere  I  can  tell  thee  what  thou  shouldst  do  there.  — 
\To  herself]  O  constancy !  be  strong  upon  my  side  : 
Set  a  huge  mountain  'tween  my  heart  and  tongue  ! 
I  have  a  man's  mind,  but  a  woman's  might. 
How  hard  it  is  for  women  to  keep  counsel  ! 
[To  Lucius.]  Art  thou  here  yet  ? 

Lucius.  Madam,  what  should  I  do  ? 

a  In  the  language  of  Shakespeare's  time,  the  word  lover  applied  alike  to  both  sexes. 


JULIUS    CjESAR.  l8l 

Run  to  the  Capitol,  and  nothing  else, 
And  so  return  to  you,  and  nothing  else  ? 

Portia.    Yes,  bring  me  word,  boy,  if  thy  lord  look  well, 
For  he  went  sickly  forth :  and  take  good  note, 
What  Caesar  doth,  what  suitors  press  to  him. 
Hark,  boy  !  what  noise  is  that  ? 

Lucius.    I  hear  none,  madam. 

Portia.  Pr'ythee,  listen  well : 

I  heard  a  bustling  rumor,  like  a  fray, 
And  the  wind  brings  it  from  the  Capitol. 

Lucius.  Sooth,  madam,  I  hear  nothing. 

Presently  Artemidorus   passes   along,   and  Portia  immediately  accosts  him, 

asking,  — 

Is  Caesar  yet  gone  to  the  Capitol  ? 

Artemidorus.    Madam,  not  yet :  I  go  to  take  my  stand, 
To  see  him  pass  on  to  the  Capitol. 

Portia.    Thou  hast  some  suit  to  Caesar,  hast  thou  not  ? 

Artemidorus.    That  I  have,  lady;  if  it  will  please  Caesar 
To  be  so  good  to  Caesar  as  to  hear  me, 
I  shall  beseech  him  to  befriend  himself. 

Portia.    Why,  know'st  thou  any  harm  's  intended  towards  him  ? 

Artemidorus.    None  that  I  know  will  be,  much  that  I  fear. 
Good  morrow  to  you.  —  Here  the  street  is  narrow  : 
The  throng  that  follows  Caesar  at  the  heels, 
Of  senators,  of  praetors,  common  suitors, 
Will  crowd  a  feeble  man  almost  to  death. 
I  '11  get  me  to  a  [wider]  place,  and  there 
Speak  to  great  Caesar  as  he  comes  along. 

Portia.    I  must  go  in.  —  [To  herself.']  Ah  me,  how  weak  a  thing 
The  heart  of  woman  is  !  —  O  Brutus, 
The  Heavens  speed  thee  in  thine  enterprise  !  — 
Sure,  the  boy  heard  me.  —  \_Aloud  to  Lucius.]   Brutus  hath  a  suit 
That  Caesar  will  not  grant.  —  O,  I  grow  faint.  — 
Run,  Lucius,  and  commend  me  to  my  lord. 
Say,  —  I  am  [well ;  then]  come  to  me  again, 
And  bring  me  word  what  he  doth  say  to  thee. 


VII. 


Act  III.     Scene  i. 

NEW  and  splendid  building  had  been  erected  by  Pompey 
for  the  use  of  the  Senate.  It  was  to  be  occupied  for  the 
first  time  on  the  ides  of  March,  —  the  very  day  about  which 
the  soothsayer  had  given  warning  to  Julius  Csesar. 

In  the  interior  of  the  building  was  a  statue  of  Pompey. 
The  day  before  the  ides  of  March  a  tiny  wren  flew  into  the 
hall,  with  a  spray  of  laurel  in  its  beak ;  it  was  followed  by 

several  birds  of  prey,  who  tore  the  wren  to  pieces,  the  laurel  falling  from  its 

beak  to  the  foot  of  Pompey's  statue.     As  the  laurel  was  a  favorite  with  Csesar, 

many  thought  this  incident  boded  ill  for  him. 

Influenced  by  his  ambition  and  the  skillful  arguments  of  the  conspirators, 

Caesar  had  dismissed  his  caution,  and,  in  spite  of  his  wife's  entreaties,  went,  with 

Brutus,   Cassius,  and  the  rest,  through  the  broad,  open  street   to  the  Capitol. 

Crowds  of  people  thronged  the  way.     Among  them  were  Artemidorus,  with  his 

letter,  and  the  soothsayer  who  had  warned  Caesar  to  beware  of  the  ides  of  March. 

Bands  of  music  were  playing,  and  the  trumpets  gave  a  great  flourish  as  Caesar 

appeared. 

Seeing  the  old  soothsayer  in  the  crowd,  and  remembering  at  once  the  warning 

he  had  given,  Caesar  looked  at  him  with  a  meaning  glance  as  he  passed,  and 

said,  "  The  ides  of  March  are  come  ! "  as  if  to  show  how  false  a  prophet  he 

considered  the  man  to  be. 

"  Ay,  Caesar,"  the  soothsayer  replied,  "  but  not  gone  /" 

Artemidorus  now  drew  near  with  his  letter,  crying,  "  Hail,  Caesar  !  read  this 

paper."     He  knew  it  was  the  only  opportunity  he  should  have,  and,  thinking 


JULIUS    OESAR. 


I83 


thus  to  influence  Caesar,  he  further  urged  that  the  matter  of  the  letter  nearly 
concerned  the  man  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  He  could  not  have  made 
a  greater  mistake,  for  Caesar  immediately  replied,  with  a  magnanimity  worthy 
of  his  lofty  name  and  station,  "What  touches  us  ourself  shall  be  last  served. 
Bring  your  petition  to  the  Capitol."  And  before  the  friendly  Artemidorus  could 
return  to  the  charge,  he  was  hustled  away  in  the  crowd,  and  the  procession 
moved  on. 


Popilius  Lena,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  plans  of  the  conspirators,  parted  from 
them  at  the  entrance  to  the  Capitol,  saying  he  wished  success  to  their  enterprises. 
He  referred  to  the  petitions  he  supposed  they  were  about  to  present ;  but  their 
guilty  consciences  made  them  believe  his  words  pointed  to  the  conspiracy.  "  I 
fear,"  said  Casca,  "  our  purpose  is  discovered." 

Brutus.    Look,  how  he  makes  to  Caesar:  mark  him. 

Cassz'us.    Casca,  be  sudden,  for  we  fear  prevention.  — 
Brutus,  what  shall  be  clone  ?     If  this  be  known, 
Cassius  or  Caesar  never  shall  [return], 
For  I  will  slay  myself. 

Brutus.  Cassius,  be  constant  : 

Popilius  Lena  speaks  not  of  our  purposes  ; 
For.  look,  he  smiles,  and  Caesar  doth  not  change. 

Cassius.    Trebonius  knows  his  time  ;  for  look  you,  Brutus, 
He  draws  Mark  Antony  out  of  the  way. 


The  conspirators  had  a  wholesome  fear  of  the  courage  and  energy  of  Antony, 
the  faithful  friend  of  Caesar.  It  was,  therefore,  in  accordance  with  a  previous 
arrangement  that  Trebonius  drew  him  aside  under  pretence  of  having  something 
important  to  say  to  him,  while  the  senators  took  their  seats,  and  Caesar,  from  the 


1 84 


SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 


consul's  chair,  made  ready  to  hear  the  petitions  and  complaints  that  might  be  pre- 
sented to  him. 

It  had  been  agreed  that  Metellus  Cimber,  whose  brother  Publius  had  been 
banished  by  Caesar,  should  be  the  first  to  draw  near  to  Csesar,  and  plead  for  the 
pardon  and  restoration  of  the  exile.  Decius  was  to  follow,  and  urge  Caesar  to 
grant  the  pardon.  Then  Cassius  and  Brutus  were  to  come,  pressing  the  same 
request.  At  a  given  signal  Casca  was  to  draw  near  and  strike  the  first  blow,  and 
then  all  the  others,  without  delay,  were  to  follow  Casca's  example. 

The  law  did  not  allow  arms  to  be  brought  into  the  Senate-house,  but  each 
senator  was  furnished  with  an  iron  stylus,  an  instrument  for  writing  upon  tablets . 
of  wax,  and  in  the  cases  which  contained  these  the  conspirators  concealed  their 
daggers. 

At  last  all  is  ready,  and  Caesar  speaks  from  the  consul's  seat :  — 

What  is  now  amiss, 
That  Caesar  and  his  senate  must  redress  ? 

Metellus  [kneeling].    Most  high,  most  mighty,  and  most  [powerful]  Caesar, 
Metellus  Cimber  throws  before  thy  seat 
An  humble  heart, — 
#  Ccesar.  I  must  prevent  thee,  Cimber. 

Thy  brother  by  decree  is  banished  : 
If  thou  dost  bend,  and  pray,  and  fawn  for  him, 
I  spurn  thee  like  a  cur  out  of  my  way. 
Know,  Caesar  doth  not  wrong  ;  nor  without  cause 
Will  he  be  satisfied. 

Metellus.    Is  there  no  voice  more  worthy  than  my  own, 
To  sound  more  sweetly  in  great  Caesar's  ear, 
For  the  [recalling]  of  my  banished  brother  ? 

Brutus.    I  kiss  thy  hand,  but  not  in  flattery,  Caesar  ; 
Desiring  thee  that  Publius  Cimber  may 
Have  an  immediate  freedom  of  repeal.1 

Ccesar.    What,  Brutus ! 

Cassius.  Pardon,  Caesar  ;  Caesar,  pardon  ; 

As  low  as  to  thy  foot  doth  Cassius  fall, 
To  beg  enfranchisement b  for  Publius  Cimber. 

Ccesar.    I  could  be  well  moved,  if  I  were  as  you  ; 
If  I  could  pray  to  move,  prayers  would  move  me  ; 
But  I  am  constant  as  the  northern  star, 
Of  whose  true,  fixed,  and  resting  quality, 
There  is  no  fellow  in  the  firmament. 
[For]  I  was  constant  Cimber  should  be  banished, 
And  constant  do  remain  to  keep  him  so. 

a  Recall  from  banishment  by  repealing  the  decree  that  banished  him. 
b  Restoration  to  his  rights  as  a  citizen. 


JULIUS    CAESAR.  185 

Cimia.    O  Caesar  !  — 

Ccesar.  Hence  !  Wilt  thou  lift  up  Olympus  ? a 

Decius.    Great  Caesar,  — 

Ccesar.  Doth  not  Brutus  bootless  kneel  ?  a 

Casca.    Speak,  hands,  for  me. 

They  had  crowded  around  Caesar,  clamoring  and  insisting,  until  he  grew  angry 
and  thrust  them  away.  This  gave  them  a  pretext  for  the  signal.  Cimber  pulled 
Caesar's  robe  from  his  shoulders,  and  Casca,  raising  his  dagger,  struck  the  first 
blow,  stabbing  Caesar  in  the  back  of  the  neck. 

All  was  now  terror  and  confusion.  Caesar  was  unarmed,  but,  having  in  his 
hand  his  iron  stylus,  he  thrust  it  through  the  arm  of  one  of  the  conspirators.  The 
others  closed  round  him.  In  every  direction  in  which  he  looked  he  saw  mur- 
derous weapons  and  more  murderous  faces.  The  senators  rose  in  confusion. 
One  after  another  of  the  men  who  had  sworn  to  kill  Caesar,  stabbed  him.  Resist- 
ance was  indeed  in  vain,  and  when  Brutus  also,  the  dear  friend  of  Caesar,  thrust  a 
dagger  into  his  bosom,  Caesar  drew  his  mantle  over  his  face  and  ceased  to 
struggle,  uttering,  in  deep  reproach,  the  memorable  words,  — "  And  thou,  too, 
Brutus?  Then  fall,  Caesar  !  "  As  Caesar,  pierced  by  twenty-three  wounds,  fell 
dead  at  the  very  foot  of  the  statue  of  his  great  rival  Pompey,  and  the  senators 
and  people  were  retiring  in  confusion,  Cinna  shouted,  — 

Liberty  !     Freedom  !     Tyranny  is  dead  !  — 
Run  hence,  proclaim,  cry  it  about  the  streets. 

Casca.    Some  to  the  common  pulpits,b  and  cry  out, 
"  Liberty,  freedom,  and  enfranchisement !  " 

Brutus.    People,  and  senators  !  be  not  affrighted. 
Fly  not ;  stand  still :  — ambition's  debt  is  paid. 

Casca.    Go  to  the  pulpit,  Brutus. 

Decius.  And  Cassius  too. 

Brutus.    Where  's  Publius  ? 

Cinna.    Here,  quite  confounded  with  this  mutiny. 

Meiellus.    Stand  fast  together,  lest  some  friend  of  Caesar's 
Should  chance  — 

Brtitus.    Talk  not  of  standing.0 —  Publius,  good  cheer  : 

a  Wilt  thou  lift  up  Olympus? — That  is,  you  may  as  well  attempt  to  move  that  mountain 
as  me.  Doth  not  Brutus  bootless  /meel? — If  my  dear  friend  pleads  in  vain,  do  you  suppose 
I  will  listen  to  yoti  ? 

b  Common  pulpits — These  were  permanent  stands,  built  of  brick  or  stone,  in  the  public 
squares,  from  which  the  orators  might  address  the  people.  They  were  called  rostra  —  the 
Latin  word  for  beaks — because  the  two  front  corners  were  made  ornamentally  to  imitate  the 
beaks,  or  bows,  of  two  ships ;  or,  sometimes,  were  adorned  with  the  brazen  prows  of  vessels 
captured  in  war. 

c  Brutus  means,  talk  not  of  standing  together,  as  though  we  were  expecting  an  attack 
from  the  people  ;  we  are  the  friends  of  the  people,  and  they  know  it  well. 


j  86         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

There  is  no  harm  intended  to  your  person, 
Nor  to  no  Roman  else  ;  so  tell  them,  Publius. 

Casca.    And  leave  us,  Publius  ;  lest  that  the  people, 
Rushing  on  us,  should  do  your  age  some  mischief. 

Brutus.    Do  so  :  —  and  let  no  man  abide  x  this  deed, 
But  we,  the  doers. 

At  this  point  Trebonius  entered  again.     He  it  was  who  had  led  aside  that 
dangerous  Mark  Antony,  and  Cassius  rather  anxiously  inquired,  — 

Where  's  Antony  ? 

Trebonius.  Fled  to  his  house  amazed. 

Men,  wives,  and  children,  stare,  cry  out,  and  run, 
As  it  were  doomsday. 

Brutus.  Fates,  we  [await]  your  pleasures.  — 

That  we  shall  die,  we  know ;  't  is  but  the  time, 
And  drawing  days  out,  that  men  [care  about]. 

Casca.    Why,  he  that  cuts  off  twenty  years  of  life 
Cuts  off  so  many  years  of  fearing  death. 

Brictus.    Grant  that,  and  then  is  death  a  benefit  : 
So  are  we  Caesar's  friends,  that  have  abridged 
His  time  of  fearing  death.  —  Stoop,  Romans,  stoop, 
And  let  us  bathe  our  hands  in  Caesar's  blood 
Up  to  the  elbows,  and  besmear  our  swords  ; 
Then  walk  we  forth,  even  to  the  market-place, 
And,  waving  our  red  weapons  o'er  our  heads, 
Let 's  all  cry,  Peace  !  Freedom  !  and  Liberty  ! 

Cassius.    Stoop,  then,  and  wash. 

[Then]  every  man  away: 
Brutus  shall  lead  ;  and  we  will  [follow  him] 
With  the  most  boldest  and  best  hearts  of  Rome. 

Here  a  servant  of  Antony's  entered,  and  knelt  at  the  feet  of  Brutus. 

Brutus.    Soft !  who  comes  here  ?     A  friend  of  Antony's. 

Servant.   Thus,  Brutus,  did  my  master  bid  me  kneel ; 
Thus  did  Mark  Antony  bid  me  fall  down, 
And,  being  prostrate,  thus  he  bade  me  say : 
Brutus  is  noble,  wise,  valiant,  and  honest ; 
Caesar  was  mighty,  bold,  royal,  and  loving: 
Say,  I  love  Brutus,  and  I  honor  him ; 
Say,  I  feared  Caesar,  honored  him,  and  loved  him. 
If  Brutus  will  vouchsafe  that  Antony 
May  safely  come  to  him,  and  be  [informed] 
How  Caesar  hath  deserved  to  lie  in  death, 

1  Answer  for. 


JULIUS   CESAR.  187 

Mark  Antony  will  not  love  Caesar  dead 

So  well  as  Brutus  living ;  but  will  follow 

The  fortunes  and  affairs  of  noble  Brutus 

With  all  true  faith.     So  says  my  master  Antony.  {Rising. 

Brutus.   Thy  master  is  a  wise  and  valiant  Roman : 
I  never  thought  him  worse. 
Tell  him,  so  please  him  come  unto  this  place, 
He  shall  be  satisfied  ;  and,  by  my  honor, 
Depart  untouched. 

After  the  servant  had  gone  to  fetch  his  master,  Brutus  began  to  congratulate  his 
friends  on  this  conciliatory  message  of  Antony's.  "  I  know,"  said  he,  "  that  we 
shall  have  him  among  our  warmest  friends."  But  the  keen-eyed  Cassius,  who 
knew  the  crooked  ways  of  men  so  much  better  than  the  guileless,  unsuspicious 
Brutus,  shook  his  head.  "  I  wish  we  may,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  doubt  it  much." 
This  was  the  second  time  the  friends  had  differed  about  Antony.  There  would 
be  one  more,  and  afterwards  it  would  appear  that  the  policy  of  Brutus  was  the  more 
upright,  but  that  of  Antony  the  shrewder  —  for  worldly  success. 

While  they  discussed  this  question,  Antony  entered.  Brutus  gave  him  kindly 
greeting :  — 


Welcome,  Mark  Antony. 
Antony.    O  mighty  Caesar  !  dost  thou  lie  so  low  ? 

\_Kneeling  over  the  body. 
Are  all  thy  conquests,  glories,  triumphs,  spoils, 

Shrunk  to  this  little  measure  ?     Fare  thee  well. —  {Rising. 

I  know  not,  gentlemen,  what  you  intend, 
Who  else  must  be  let  blood,  who  else  is  rank : a 
If  I  myself,  there  is  no  hour  so  fit 

a  Who  else  must  be  let  blood —  In  old-fashioned  phrase,  to  be  let  blood  was  just  to  be  bled. 
Who  else  is  rank  ?  —  Rank  is  a  word  implying  overgrowth.  We  use  it  of  weeds.  The  meaning 
is :  Who  else  must  fall  ?     Who  else  has  grown  too  tall  (as  you  say  Caesar  has)  ? 


1 88  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 

As  Caesar's  death  hour  ;  nor  no  instrument 

Of  half  that  worth  as  those  your  swords,  made  rich 

With  the  most  noble  blood  of  all  this  world. 

I  do  beseech  ye,  if  you  [mean  me  ill], 

Now,  whilst  your  purpled  hands  do  reek  and  smoke, 

Fulfil  your  pleasure.     Live  a  thousand  years, 

I  shall  not  find  myself  so  [fit]  to  die  ; 

No  place  will  please  me  so,  no  means  of  death, 

As  here  by  Caesar,  and  by  you  a  cut  off, 

The  choice  and  master  spirits  of  this  age. 

Brutus.    O  Antony  !  beg  not  your  death  of  us. 
Though  now  we  must  appear  bloody  and  cruel, 
As,  by  our  hands,  and  this  our  present  act, 
You  see  we  do  ;  yet  see  you  but  our  hands, 
And  this  the  bleeding  business  they  have  done. 
Our  hearts  you  see  not :  they  are  pitiful  ; 
And  pity  to  the  general  wrong  of  Rome 
Hath  done  this  deed  on  Caesar.     For  your  part, 
To  you  our  swords  have  leaden  points,  Mark  Antony  : 
Our  arms,  in  strength  of  manhood,  and  our  hearts, 
Of  brothers'  temper,  do  receive  you  in 
With  all  kind  love,  good  thoughts,  and  reverence. 

Here  Cassius  interrupted  by  calling  out  to  Antony  an  inducement  which  he 
judged  would  be  of  far  more  importance  to  that  gentleman  than  either  "love  "  or 
"  reverence."  He  assured  him  of  a  large  share  in  the  new  distribution  of 
offices  :  — 

Your  voice  shall  be  as  strong  as  any  man's 

In  the  disposing  of  new  dignities. 

Brutus.    Only  be  patient  till  we  have  appeased 

The  multitude,  beside  themselves  with  fear, 

And  then  we  will  [declare  to]  you  the  cause, 

Why  I,  that  did  love  Caesar  when  I  struck  him, 

Have  thus  proceeded. 

Antony.  I  doubt  not  of  your  wisdom. 

Let  each  man  [reach  to]  me  his  bloody  hand  : 

[  Takes  their  hands,  one  after  another. 

First,  Marcus  Brutus,  will  I  shake  with  you  ;  — 

Next,  Caius  Cassius,  do  I  take  your  hand  ;  — 

Now,  Decius  Brutus,  yours;  —  now  yours,  Metellus  ;  — 

Yours,  Cinna  ;  —  and,  my  valiant  Casca,  yours  ;  — 

Though  last,  not  least  in  love,  yours,  good  Trebonius. 

Gentlemen  all,  —  alas  !   what  shall  I  say  ? 

11  By  Ccesar  and  by  you  —  that  is,  by  Caesar's  side  and  by  your  hands  ;  playing  on  the 
different  meanings  of  the  word,  —  a  sort  of  serious  pun  that  Shakespeare  was  fond  of. 


JULIUS    CAESAR.  189 

My  credit  now  stands  on  such  slippery  ground, 

That  one  of  two  bad  ways  you  must  [construe]  me, 

Either  a  coward  or  a  flatterer. — 

That  I  did  love  thee,  Caesar  !  O,  'tis  true  :  [Turning  to  the  body. 

If,  then,  thy  spirit  look  upon  us  now, 

Shall  it  not  grieve  thee  dearer  1  than  thy  death, 

To  see  thy  Antony  making  his  peace, 

Shaking  the  bloody  fingers  of  thy  foes,  — 

Most  noble  !  —  in  the  presence  of  thy  corse  ? 

Had  I  as  many  eyes  as  thou  hast  wounds, 

Weeping  as  fast  as  they  stream  forth  thy  blood, 

It  would  become  me  better  than  to  close 

In  terms  of  friendship  with  thine  enemies. 

Pardon  me,  Julius  !     Here  wast  thou  bayed,  brave  hart ; 

Here  didst  thou  fall ;  and  here  thy  hunters  stand. 

How  like  a  deer,  stricken  by  many  princes, 

Dost  thou  here  lie  ! 

Cassius  \impatiently~\.    Mark  Antony, — 

Antony.  Pardon  me,  Caius  Cassius: 

The  enemies a  of  Caesar  shall  say  this  ; 
Then,  in  a  friend,  it  is  cold  modesty. 

Cassius.    I  blame  you  not  for  praising  Caesar  so, 
But  what  compact  mean  you  to  have  with  us  ? 
Will  you  be  [marked]  in  number  of  our  friends, 
Or  shall  we  on,  and  not  depend  on  you  ? 

Antony.    [For  that]  I  took  your  hands  ;  but  was,  indeed, 
Swayed  from  the  point  by  looking  down  on  Caesar. 
Friends  am  I  with  you  all,  and  love  you  all, 
Upon  this  hope,  that  you  shall  give  me  reasons 
Why  and  wherein  Caesar  was  dangerous. 

Brutus.    [Else  would  this  be]  a  savage  spectacle. 
Our  reasons  are  so  full  of  good  regard, 
That  were  you,  Antony,  the  son  of  Caesar, 
You  should  be  satisfied. 

Antony.  That 's  all  I  seek  : 

And  am  moreover  suitor,  that  I  may 
[Convey]  his  body  to  the  market-place  ; b 
And  in  the  pulpit,  as  becomes  a  friend, 
Speak  in  the  order  of  his  funeral. 

Brutus.    You  shall,  Mark  Antony. 

Cassius.  Brutus,  a  word  with  you.  — 

\_Aside  to  Brutus.]  You  know  not  what  you  do :  do  not  consent 


1  Worse. 
That  is,  even  the  enemies  of  Caesar,  etc. 
This  was  the  Forum,  the  principal  public  square  in  Rome. 


190         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

That  Antony  speak  [at]  his  funeral. 

Know  you  how  much  the  people  may  be  moved 

By  that  which  he  will  utter  ? 

Bruizes  {aside  to  Cassius].    By  your  pardon ; 
I  will  myself  into  the  pulpit  first, 
And  show  the  reason  of  our  Caesar's  death  : 
What  Antony  shall  speak,  I  will  protest 
He  speaks  by  leave  and  by  permission  ; 
And  that  we  are  contented  Caesar  shall 
Have  all  due  rites  and  lawful  ceremonies. 
It  shall  advantage  more  than  do  us  wrong. 

Cassius  [aside  to  Brutus].    I  know  not  what  may  [chance]  :  I  like 
it  not. 

Brutus.    Mark  Antony,  here,  take  you  Caesar's  body. 
You  shall  not  in  your  funeral  speech  blame  us, 
But  speak  all  good  you  can  devise  of  Caesar  ; 
And  say,  you  do  't  by  our  permission  ; 
Else  shall  you  not  have  any  hand  at  all 
About  his  funeral  :   and  you  shall  speak 
In  the  same  pulpit  whereto  I  am  going, 
After  my  speech  is  ended. 

Antonv.  Be  it  so  ; 

I  do  desire  no  more. 

Brutus.    Prepare  the  body,  then,  and  follow  us. 

Brutus  and  Cassius  went  away,  leaving  Antony  with  dead  Ceesar.  Then  An- 
tony's deep  feeling  and  purpose  were  shown,  as  he  turned  to  the  cold  body,  pierced 
with  so  many  wounds,  —  all  that  remained  of  one  he  had  so  loved  and  honored,  — 
and,  kneeling  by  its  side,  exclaimed,  — 

O,  pardon  me,  thou  bleeding  piece  of  earth, 

That  I  am  meek  and  gentle  with  these  butchers  ! 

Thou  art  the  ruins  of  the  noblest  man 

That  ever  lived  in  the  tide  of  times. 

Woe  to  the  hand  that  shed  this  costly  blood  ! 

Over  thy  wounds  now  do  I  prophesy, 

(Which,  like  dumb  mouths,  do  ope  their  ruby  lips, 

To  beg  the  voice  and  utterance  of  my  tongue,) 

A  curse  shall  light  upon  the  limbs  of  men ; 

Domestic  fury  and  fierce  civil  strife 

Shall  cumber  all  the  parts  of  Italy  : 

Blood  and  destruction  shall  be  so  in  use, 

And  dreadful  objects  so  familiar, 

That  mothers  shall  but  smile  when  they  behold 

Their  infants  quartered  [by]  the  hands  of  war  ; 

And  Caesar's  spirit,  ranging  for  revenge, 


JULIUS    CESAR.  191 

Shall  in  these  [regions],  with  a  monarch's  voice, 
Cry  "  Havoc  !  " a  and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war. 
[So]  this  foul  deed  shall  smell  above  the  earth 
With  carrion  men,  groaning  for  burial. 

While  Antony,  overwhelmed  with  grief,  thus  called  down  the  vengeance  of 
the  gods  on  the  murderers  of  Caesar,  a  servant  entered  with  a  message  for  Antony 
from  Octavius,  the  nephew  of  Julius  Caesar,  who  was  already  within  seven  leagues 
of  Rome.  The  terrible  sight  that  met  this  servant's  gaze  drove  his  master's  mes- 
sage from  his  mind  :  he  could  only  stare,  and  weep,  and  cry,  "  O  Caesar  !  " 

Antony  bade  him  post  back  with  speed  and  tell  Octavius  what  had  chanced, 
warning  him  that  Rome  was  not  yet  safe  for  any  relative  of  Caesar's.  Meanwhile 
Antony  prepared  to  move  the  bloody  corse  to  the  Forum,  where  he  determined  to 
try  in  his  funeral  oration  the  real  feeling  of  the  people  toward  the  men  who  had 
wrought  this  cruel  deed. 

a  Havoc  was,  in  ancient  times,  the  word  used  in  battle  as  the  signal  for  no  quarter. 


VIII. 


Act  III.     Scene  2. 

sRUTUS  and  Cassius  and  their  confederates  went  from  the 
Senate-chamber  to  the  Forum  with  their  bloody  daggers 
naked  in  their  hands.  They  did  not  try  to  hide  their  part 
in  the  dreadful  deed,  which  they  looked  upon  as  necessary 
and  glorious. 

All  the  public  squares  were  called  forums,  but  one  larger 
and  more  magnificent  than  the  others  was  called  The  Forum. 
This  noble  square  was  surrounded  by  stately  buildings,  and  adorned  with  statues 
and  every  style  of  ornamental  sculpture.  Among  other  features  was  the  Rostra,  a 
sort  of  pulpit,  so  named  (as  already  explained)  because  it  was  adorned  with 
brazen  beaks  of  ships  taken  in  battle. 

Here  Caesar,  who  was  a  skillful  and  eloquent  orator,  had  often  addressed  the 
people,  and  here  Brutus  went  to  speak  to  the  excited  crowd  that  thronged  the 
squares  and  all  the  streets  that  centred  toward  this  great  gathering-place  of  Rome. 
The  immense  area  seemed  like  a  surging  sea,  composed  of  wild  and  eager  faces, 
in  which  suppressed  mischief  was  mingled  with  eager  curiosity.  The  whole  city 
was  thunder-struck  by  the  bloody  deed,  of  which,  in  the  first  shock  of  its  sur- 
prise, it  hardly  knew  what  to  think.  But  Brutus  was  to  explain,  and  "  render  rea- 
sons,"—  Brutus,  the  honest  and  simple-hearted, — and  if  Caesar  had  been  an 
idol  of  the  people,  so,  in  another  way,  had  Brutus.  Now  it  appeared  how  well 
the  conspirators  had  calculated  the  value  of  the  alliance,  when  they  entangled 
his  virtue  in  their  scheme. 

But  still  the  noisy  crowd  demanded  the  explanation,  and  shouted  tumultu- 

ously,  — 

We  will  be  satisfied :   Let  us  be  satisfied. 

Brutus.    Then  follow  me,  and  give  me  audience,  friends.  — 
Cassius,  go  you  into  the  other  street, 


JULIUS    CESAR.  193 

And  part  the  numbers.  — 

Those  that  will  hear  me  speak,  let  them  stay  here  ; 

Those  that  will  follow  Cassius,  go  with  him  ; 

And  public  reasons  shall  be  rendered 

Of  Caesar's  death. 

So  Cassius,  followed  by  a  throng  of  the  citizens,  went  to  another  public  place, 
and  Brutus  ascended  the  rostra.  For  a  time  the  noise  and  confusion  prevented 
his  being  heard,  but  at  last  silence  was  obtained,  and  in  the  clear,  calm  tones  of 

reason  the  orator  began  :  — 
• 
Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers  !  hear  me  for  my  cause,  and  be  silent  that  you 
may  hear  :  believe  me  for  mine  honor,  and  have  respecta  to  mine  honor,  that  you  may 
believe ;  censure  1  me  in  your  wisdom,  and  awake  your  senses  that  you  may  the  better 
judge.  If  there  be  any  in  this  assembly,  [even]  any  dear  friend  of  Caesar's,  to  him  I 
say,  that  Brutus'  love  to  Caesar  was  no  less  than  his.  If,  then,  that  friend  demand, 
why  Brutus  rose  against  Caesar  ?  this  is  my  answer,  —  not  that  I  loved  Caesar  less,  but 
that  I  loved  Rome  more  [than  he].  Had  you  rather  Caesar  were  living,  and  die  all 
slaves,  than  that  Caesar  were  dead,  to  live  all  free  men  ?  As  Caesar  loved  me,  I  weep 
for  him ;  as  he  was  fortunate,  I  rejoice  at  it ;  as  he  was  valiant,  I  honor  him  ;  but,  as 
he  was  ambitious,  I  slew  him.  There  is  tears  for  his  love  ;  joy  for  his  fortune  ;  honor 
for  his  valor;  and  death  for  his  ambition.  Who  is  here  so  base,  that  would  be  a  bond- 
man ?  If  any,  speak  ;  for  him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  rude,b  that  would  not 
be  a  Roman  ?  If  any,  speak;  for  him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  vile,  that  will 
not  love  his  country  ?     If  any,  speak ;  for  him  have  I  offended.     I  pause  for  a  reply. 

Then  the  whole  multitude  shouted,  "  None,  Brutus,  none  !  " 

Brutus.  Then,  none  have  I  offended.  I  have  done  no  more  to  Caesar,  than  you 
shall  do  to  Brutus.  The  [reason]  of  his  death  is  enrolled  in  the  Capitol ;  his  glory 
not  extenuated,2  wherein  he  was  worthy,  nor  his  offences  enforced,3  for  which  he  suf- 
fered death.  Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark  Antony:  who,  though  he  had 
no  hand  in  his  death,  shall  receive  the  benefit  of  his  dying,  a  place  in  the  common- 
wealth0 ;  as  which  of  you  shall  not?  With  this  I  depart ;  that,  as  I  slew  my  best  lover 
for  the  good  of  Rome,  I  have  the  same  dagger  for  myself,  when  it  shall  please  my 
country  to  need  my  death. 

Now  this  brief  address,  with  its  cold,  short  sentences,  was  all  reasoning: 
Brutus  disdained  to  arouse  the  passions  of  the  crowd.     He  really  excited  very 

1  Judge.  2  Belittled.  3  Insisted  upon. 

a  That  is,  have  reference  to,  or  consider,  mine  honor. 

b  That  is,  Who  of  you  is  such  a  barbarian  as  not  to  be  proud  of  his  Roman  citizenship  ? 

0  Brutus  meant  that,  while  the  tyrant  lived,  no  citizen  had  really  a  place  in  the  common- 
wealth, but  in  his  death  they  all  alike  reeeived  the  benefit  of  a  restoration  of  their  privileges 
as  freemen. 


194  SHAKESPEARE   FOR  THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 

little  enthusiasm  among  them  for  his  ideal  Justice  and  Liberty ;  but  there  he  stood 
himself,  and  that,  at  first,  was  satisfactory.  The  people  must  have  a  Caesar ;  and 
if  the  old  Caesar  was  dead,  let  Brutus  be  a  new  one.  So  they  burst  out  with 
various  cries  :  — 

"  Bring  him  in  triumph  home  unto  his  house,"  shouted  one. 

"  Give  him  a  statue  with  his  ancestors  !  "  exclaimed  another. 

"  Let  him  be  Caesar  !  "  cried  a  third. 

And  so  they  went  on  shouting  and  demanding  that  Brutus  should  take  the 
place  of  the  murdered  Dictator,  until  at  last  Brutus  with  great  difficulty  got  them 
quieted  to  listen  to  the  funeral  oration  of  Mark  Antony.     He  said,  — 

Good  countrymen,  let  me  depart  alone  ; 

And,  for  my  sake,  stay  here  with  Antony: 

Do  grace  to  Caesar's  corpse,  and  grace  his  speech 

Tending  to  Caesar's  glories,  which  Mark  Antony, 

By  our  permission,  is  allowed  to  make. 

I  do  entreat  you,  not  a  man  depart, 

Save  I  alone,  till  Antony  have  spoke. 

And  then,  satisfied  that  he  had  settled  the  question  with  his  countrymen 
once  for  all,  the  honest  Brutus  delicately  withdrew,  that  he  might  not  embarrass 
Antony. 

The  sombre  group  —  a  few  bearers,  among  whom  were  Antony  himself  and 
the  servant  of  Octavius,  carrying  upon  a  bier  a  prostrate  and  rigid  form,  covered 
with  a  blood-stained  pall  —  entered  the  Forum,  the  people  silently  making  way 
for  the  poor  procession  to  pass.  They  set  down  their  gloomy  burden  directly 
before  the  rostra,  and  Antony  ascended,  and  stood  before  the  mighty  multitude. 
A  tremendous  task  was  his,  but  he  was  equal  to  it.  O,  if  Brutus  had  only  per- 
mitted Cassius  to  make  short  work  of  this  shrewd  and  brilliant  politician,  and 
lay  him  beside  his  imperial  master ;  or  if  he  had  refused  him  this  golden  oppor- 
tunity, as  Cassius  had  counselled,  how  different  might  have  been  the  result !  But 
it  is  better  so  :  a  revolution  failed  which  ought  never  to  have  succeeded,  especially 
by  such  means,  and  Brutus  remains  —  a  noble  picture  —  the  just,  magnanimous, 
but  unskillful  patriot  that  history  and  Shakespeare  have  presented  to  us. 

But  now  Antony  addressed  himself  to  his  work.  His  audience  were  all  against 
him ;  impatient  at  the  very  idea  of  any  praise  of  Caesar,  and  ready  to  tear  him  to 
pieces  if  he  should  speak  a  word  in  dispraise  of  Brutus.  But  then  he  knew  what 
sort  of  stuff  crowds  were  made  of,  and  he  had  the  advantage  of  speaking  last. 
Another  of  poor  Brutus's  mistakes  :  Antony  might  speak,  but  Brutus  must  have 
the  advantage  and  the  honor  of  speaking  first !  Any  American  boy  in  a  school 
debating-society  could  have  taught  him  better  than  that.  But  to  separate,  in  the 
people's  minds,  the  scheming  Cassius,  the  bitter  Casca,  the  ungrateful  Decius, 
the  proud  Metellus,  and  the  other  conspirators  —  all  rich  patricians,  and  naturally 


JULIUS    OESAR.  195 

more  or  less  unpopular  —  from  the  beloved  Brutus,  whom  they  had  set  up  in  front 
as  a  shield,  and  so  deprive  them  of  the  advantage  of  their  cunning,  —  how  was 
this  to  be  done?  He  did  not  try  to  do  it:  on  the  contrary,  he  put  them  all 
in  together.  When  he  praised  Brutus,  he  praised  the  others  also.  If  he  said 
"  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man,"  he  always  added,  "  and  so  is  Cassius,  and  so  is 
Casca;  so  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men;"  till  at  last  the  crowd,  not  fancy- 
ing this  general  praise,  began  to  suspect  they  were  all  ^honorable  men  together, 
and  Brutus,  like  another  "  dog  Tray,"  was  made  to  suffer  for  the  company  he 
was  in. 

Antony  stood  silent  before  the  multitude,  and  waited  for  the  tumult  to  cease. 
At  length  he  got  an  opportunity  to  express  a  word  of  thanks  to  Brutus  for  his 
courtesy.  This  was  the  signal  for  another  uproar.  The  crowd  had  caught  the 
name,  and  they  broke  out  on  all  sides  with,  "What 's  that?  "  and  "What  is  he 
saying  about  Brutus?"  But  the  explanation  was  passed  along  from  one  to 
another,  until  at  last  they  settled  down  again,  but  not  without  many  a  growl  of 
"  T  were  best  he  speak  no  harm  of  Brutus  here,"  and  "This  Caesar  was  a  tyrant, 
and  Rome  is  well  rid  of  him  ;  that 's- clear  enough." 

Again  Antony  pleaded  for  order  and  attention.  "  Friends,  Romans,  country- 
men, pray  give  me  a  hearing."     Then  they  were  quiet,  and  he  went  on  :  — 

I  come  to  bury  Cassar,  not  to  praise  him. 

The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them, 

The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones  : 

So  let  it  be  with  Caesar.     The  noble  Brutus 

Hath  told  you,  Caesar  was  ambitious  ; 

If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault, 

And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answered  it. 

Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus  and  the  rest, 

(For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man  ; 

So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men,) 

Come  I  to  speak  [at]  Caesar's  funeral. 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me  : 

But  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious  ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 

Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill. 

Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious  ? 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept; 

Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff : 

Yet  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

You  all  did  see,  that  on  the  Lupercal 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition  ? 

Yet  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious  ; 


I96         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

And,  sure,  he  is  an  honorable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  /do  know. 

You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause  : 

What  cause  withholds  you,  then,  to  mourn  for  him  ? 

O  judgment !  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason. 

Here,  partly  to  try  the  effect  of  what  he  had  already  said,  and  partly  from  real 
feeling,  he  paused  as  if  overcome,  and  turned  aside,  saying,  — 

Bear  with  me  ; 
My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Cassar, 
And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

Already  a  change  begins  to  appear  in  the  spirit  of  his  hearers. 

"  Methinks  there  is  much  reason  in  what  he  says,"  remarks  one. 

"When  you  come  to  think  it  over,"  says  another,  "Caesar  has  n't  been  treated 
exactly  right." 

"  Any  way,"  added  a  third,  "  it  is  certain  he  was  not  ambitious,  because  you 
see  he  would  n't  take  the  crown." 

"Well,  if  it  turns  out  so,"  growled  a  sturdy  fellow,  "  some  folks  will  catch  it." 

"  Poor  Antony  !  see  how  bad  he  feels.  There  's  not  a  nobler  man  in  Rome 
than  Antony." 

But  upon  this  there  was  a  cry  on  every  side  of  "  Hush  !  hush  !  he  's  begin- 
ning again."     And  Antony  resumed  :  — 

But  yesterday  the  word  of  Caesar  might 

Have  stood  against  the  world :  now  lies  he  there, 

And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  masters  !  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men. 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong:  I  rather  choose 

To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself,  and  you, 

Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men. 

But  here  's  a  parchment  with  the  seal  of  Caesar  ; 

I  found  it  in  his  closet,  —  't  is  his  will  : 

Let  but  the  [people]  hear  this  testament, 

(Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read,) 

And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds, 

And  dip  their  napkins x  in  his  sacred  blood  ; 

1  Handkerchiefs. 


JULIUS    CjESAR.  197 

Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory, 
And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 
Bequeathing  it,  as  a  rich  legacy, 
Unto  their  issue. 

Here  a  single  clear  voice  rang  out  in  the  crowd  :  "  We  '11  hear  that  will.  Read 
it,  Mark  Antony  !  "  and  at  once  the  vast  assembly  broke  out  in  response,  "  The 
will,  the  will  !  we  will  hear  Caesar's  will  !  " 

Antony.    Have  patience,  gentle  friends  ;   I  must  not  read  it : 
It  is  not  meet  you  know  how  Caesar  loved  you. 
You  are  not  wood,  you  are  not  stones,  but  men, 
And,  being  men,  hearing  the  will  of  Caesar, 
It  will  inflame  you,  it  will  make  you  mad. 
'T  is  good  you  know  not  that  you  are  his  heirs  ; 
For  if  you  should,  O,  what  would  come  of  it  ? 

Of  course  they  shouted  all  the  more,  "  Read  the  will  !  we  '11  hear  it,  Antony ; 
you  shall  read  us  the  will :  Caesar's  will !  " 

Antony.    Will  you  be  patient  ?     Will  you  stay  awhile  ? 
I  have  o'ershot  myself  to  tell  you  of  it. 
I  fear  I  wrong  the  honorable  men 
Whose  daggers  have  stabbed  Caesar  :   I  do  fear  it. 

But  now  the  fury  of  the  people  knew  no  bounds  :  "  They  were  traitors  :  hon- 
orable men,  indeed  !  "  they  fairly  yelled.  "  The  will !  the  testament !  "  "  They 
were  villains,  murderers  !    The  will !  read  the  will !  " 

Antony.    You  will  compel  me,  then,  to  read  the  will? 
Then,  make  a  ring  about  the  corpse  of  Caesar, 
And  let  me  show  you  him  that  made  the  will. 
Shall  I  descend  ?  and  will  you  give  me  leave  ? 

"  Come  down  !  You  shall  have  leave  !  "  burst  forth  the  excited  voices. 
"Stand  from  the  hearse;  stand  from  the  body."  "Room  for  Antony  ; —  most 
noble  Antony  !  "  "  Stand  back  !  room  !  bear  back  !  "  When  they  were  again 
quiet,  Antony  exposed  to  view  the  very  mantle  (or  toga)  Caesar  had  on  when  he 
was  killed,  and  which  now  served  for  a  pall.  It  was  all  cut  and  torn  in  the 
scuffle,  and  stained  with  blood ;  and  after  a  skillful  allusion  to  one  of  Caesar's 
most  famous  victories,  he  began  to  point  out  the  cuts  made  by  the  several  dag- 
gers.    He  said,  — 

If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle  :   I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on  ; 


198 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 


'T  was  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent, 

That  day  lie  overcame  the  Nervii. 

Look  !  in  this  place,  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through  : 

See,  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made  : 

Through  this  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabbed ; 

And  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 

Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it. 

For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel : 

Judge,  O  you  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  loved  him  ! 

This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all ; 

For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 

Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 

Quite  vanquished  him  :  then  burst  his  mighty  heart 

And  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 

Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue, 

Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell. 

O,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  ! 

Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 


JULIUS    CAESAR.  rgQ 

Whilst  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us. 
O,  now  you  weep  ;  and,  I  perceive,  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity  :  these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kind  souls  !  what,  weep  you,  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded  ?     Look  you  here, 
Here  is  himself,  marred,  as  you  see,  [by]  traitors. 

At  this  point  he  tore  the  mantle  from  the  prostrate  form  before  him,  and 
there  lay  the  body  of  Caesar,  all  mangled  and  bleeding,  its  three-and-twenty 
wounds  gaping  as  if  dumbly  to  ask  for  pity  and  for  vengeance.  Then  broke  from 
the  great  crowd  a  tempest  of  wailing  cries  and  sobs,  which  gradually  grew  to  yells 
of  fury.    "  O  piteous  spectacle  !  "     "  O  most  bloody  sight !  "    "  O  noble  Caesar  !  " 

"  O  traitors  !  villains  !  "    "We  will  be  revenged  !    Revenge  !  —  about,  —  seek, 

burn,  —  fire,  —  kill  !     Let  not  a  traitor  live  !  " 

They  were  rushing  forth  in  all  directions  to  their  work  of  destruction,  when 
Antony  called  out,  "  Stay,  countrymen  !  "  A  voice  cried,  "  Hear  the  most  noble 
Antony  !  "  They  all  responded,  "  We  '11  hear  him  —  we  '11  follow  him  —  we  '11 
die  with  him  !  "     Then  resumed  the  orator,  — 

Good  friends,  sweet  friends,  let  me  not  stir  you  up 

To  such  a  sudden  flood  of.mutiny. 

They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honorable  : 

What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas  !  I  know  not, 

That  made  them  do  it  ;  they  are  wise  and  honorable, 

And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 

I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts  : 

I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is,a 

But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain  blunt  man, 

That  love  my  friend  ;  and  that  they  know  full  well 

That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him. 

For  I  have  neither  wit,1  nor  words,  nor  worth, 

Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech, 

To  stir  men's  blood  :   I  only  speak  right  on  ; 

I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know, 

Show  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds,  poor,  poor  dumb  mouths, 

And  bid  them  speak  for  me  :  but  were  I  Brutus, 

And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 

Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 

In  every  wound  of  Caesar,  that  should  move 

The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 

They  shouted  in  reply,   "  We  '11  mutiny.     We  '11  burn  the   house  of  Brutus." 
"  Away  then  !  "  cried  a  voice  ;  "  come,  seek  the  conspirators." 


1  Wisdom. 
a  This  was  simply  false :  Antony  was  an  orator,  and  Brutus  was  only  a  reasoner. 


200  SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 

Antony.    Yet  hear  me,  countrymen;  yet  hear  me  speak. 

All.    Peace,  ho  !     Hear  Antony  ;  most  noble  Antony. 

Antony.    Why,  friends,  you  go  to  do  you  know  not  what. 
Wherein  hath  Caesar  thus  deserved  your  loves  ? 
Alas  !  you  know  not :  —  I  must  tell  you,  then. 
You  have  forgot  the  will  I  told  you  of. 

All.    Most  true  ;  —  the  will :  —  let  .'s  stay,  and  hear  the  will. 

Antony.    Here  is  the  will,  and  under  Caesar's  seal. 
To  every  Roman  citizen  he  gives, 
To  every  [separate]  man,  seventy-five  drachmas." 

Citizens.    Most  noble  Caesar  !  ■ — ■  we  '11  revenge  his  death. 

Antony.    Hear  me  with  patience. 

All.    [Hush!     Silence  there  !] 

Antony.    Moreover,  he  hath  left  you  all  his  walks, 
His  private  arbors,  and  new-planted -[gardens] 
On  this  side  Tiber  :  he  hath  left  them  you, 
And  to  your  heirs  forever  ;  common  pleasures, 
To  walk  abroad,  and  recreate  yourselves. 
Here  was  a  Caesar !  when  comes  such  another  ? 

Citizens.    Never,  never.  —  Come,  away,  away  ! 
We'll  burn  his  body  in  die  holy  place, 
And  with  the  brands  fire  the  traitors'  houses. 
Take  up  the  body. 
Voices.    Go,  fetch  fire  !  —  Pluck  down  benches  !  —  Pluck  down  forms,  windows, 
anything  ! 


The  crowd,  now  grown  to  a  mob,  could  be  restrained  no  longer.  They 
caught  up  the  bier  with  Caesar's  body,  and  in  a  whirlwind  of  rage  swept  yelling 
through  the  Forum,  and  left  the  great  square  silent.  Then  Antony,  with  exultation 
and  triumph  in  his  eyes,  came  down  from  the  rostra,  and  as  he  listened  to 
the  receding  shouts  of  the  infuriated  multitude  dispersing  on  their  work  of  death, 

exclaimed.  — 

Now  let  it  work.     Mischief,  thou  art  afoot : 
Take  thou  what  course  thou  wilt ! 

The  citizens  hurried  on  with  tears  and  curses,  bearing  the  mangled  body. 
Some  proposed  to  carry  it  to  the  Temple  of  Jupiter,  on  the  Capitol  Hill,  and 
burn  it  there  before  the  very  eyes  of  the  assassins  ;  others,  to  use  the  Senate-house 
itself  as  the  funeral  pyre  of  the  people's  friend.  But  as  they  were  passing  through 
the  square,  two  young,  unknown  soldiers  (perhaps  to  spare  the  city  a  general 
conflagration)  rushed  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd  with  torches,  set  fire  to  the 
trappings  of  the  bier,  and  then  immediately  disappeared.     The  people  remem- 

a  The  drachma  was  a  Greek  coin  worth  about  eighteen  and  a  half  cents.  Cassar  left  to 
each  Roman  citizen  about  fourteen  dollars,  —  a  sum,  however,  worth  a  great  deal  more  than 
the  same  amount  at  the  present  day. 


JULIUS    CjESAR.  20I 

bered  that  Castor  and  Pollux,  two  deities,  were  said  to  have  interfered  more  than 
once  before  to  save  the  republic,  and  now  they  were  more  than  ever  sure  they 
were  right,  because  they  had  the  approval  of  the  gods. 

The  wildest  excitement  followed.  A  funeral  pile  was  made  on  the  spot,  with 
everything  that  came  to  hand,  —  fagots,  benches,  window-frames,  the  banners  and 
awnings,  and  general  decorations.  Everybody  in  the  crowd  rushed  to  add  a 
chip  or  splinter.  The  soldiers  threw  in  their  spears  and  lances  ;  the  musicians, 
their  instruments.  The  trappings  of  the  horses,  the  clothing  of  the  men,  the 
necklaces  and  scarfs  of  the  women,  the  very  toys  and  playthings  of  the  children,  — 
everything,  fit  or  unfit,  was  added  to  the  pile,  and  increased  the  flame.  On  the 
pile  so  composed  the  body  of  Cassar  was  reduced  to  ashes ;  and  these  were  after- 
wards collected  with  affection  and  reverence,  and  placed  in  the  tomb  of  the 
Csesars,  in  the  Field  of  Mars. 

The  populace,  roused  to  a  frenzy  against  all  who  had  taken  part  in  the  con- 
spiracy, endeavored  to  fire  the  houses  of  Brutus  and  Cassius,  but  were  finally 
restrained,  though  with  great  difficulty,  by  the  civil  authorities.  How  completely 
the  Roman  people  had  lost  their  reason  may  appear  from  a  single  incident.  In 
the  square  they  met  an  unfortunate  poet,  named  Cinna,  whose  worst  crime  was  the 
making  of  bad  verses.  He  certainly  had  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  conspiracy ; 
but  because  he  had  the  same  name  as  another  man  who  was  a  conspirator,  the 
furious  mob  cut  off  his  head,  and  carried  it  through  the  streets  on  a  pike. 


IX. 


Act  IV.     Scenes  1-3. 

,HEN  the  people  were  in  such  a  mood,  Rome  was  no  place 
for  the  conspirators.  Antony,  passing  from  the  Forum 
after  his  triumph,  was  met  by  the  servant  of  Octavius, 
and  informed  that  that  young  gentleman  and  Lepidus, 
f^p.  the  commander  of  the  Roman  cavalry,  were  already  in 
the  city,  at  the  house  of  Caesar,  and  that  Brutus,  Cas- 
sius,  and  the  other  conspirators  had  ridden  like  madmen 
through  the  gates  of  Rome. 

Then  these  three  men  (the  Triumvirate,  as  they  were  afterwards  called)  — 
Octavius  Caesar,  the  grand-nephew,  adopted  son,  and  heir  of  the  great  Julius  ;  Mark 
Antony,  the  dissolute  but  brilliant  soldier,  true  friend  and  lover  of  Caesar ;  and 
Lepidus,  the  master  of  Caesar's  horse,  who  was  to  have  succeeded  him  as  gov- 
ernor of  Gaul  —  met  together  to  divide  between  them  the  empire  of  the  world. 
Antony  at  first  underrated  Octavius,  on  account  of  his  youth ;  but  he  soon  dis- 
covered the  power  and  influence  of  the  young  man  who  was  to  become  the 
Emperor  Augustus.  Lepidus  he  always  despised  as  being,  though  a  good  soldier, 
a  man  of  small  abilities,  "  fit  to  be  sent  on  errands,"  or  to  share  the  odium  of  the 
bloody  deeds  of  the  Triumvirate.  "  We  lay  these  honors  on  the  man,"  he  said, 
"  as  we  load  an  ass  with  gold, 


And,  having  brought  our  treasure  where  we  will, 
Then  take  we  down  his  load,  and  turn  him  off, 
Like  to  the  empty  ass,  to  shake  his  ears, 
And  graze  on  commons. 


Do  not  talk  of  him  but  as  a  property." 

But  these  men  had  none  of  the  scruples  that  had  prevented  Brutus  from  spill- 
ing a  drop  of  blood  more  than  was  necessary  to  free  Rome  from  a  dreaded 
danger.     They  made  a  list  of  all  that  were  even  suspected  of  opposition  to  Caesar, 


JULIUS    CiESAR. 


203 


all  of  any  rank  or  position  who  had  even  been  lukewarm  in  his  cause,  and  killed 
them  wherever  they  could  be  found.  This  was  done  in  a  way  as  cold-blooded  as 
the  deed  itself  was  cruel.  They  met  at  the  house  of  Antony,  and  there  determined 
upon  the  names  of  those' who  it  was  decided  should  die  ;  and  even  their  desire  to 
avenge  the  death  of  Caesar  was  swallowed  up  in  their  eagerness  to  be  rid  of  their  own 
personal  enemies.  To  reach  this  end,  they  arranged  with  one  another  :  Octavius 
consented  to  give  up  to  Antony's  revenge  the  great  orator  Cicero,  who  was  his 
enemy,  and  had  written  and  spoken  bitterly  against  him,  on  condition  that  Antony 
should  sacrifice  his  uncle  Lucius  Caesar,  who  was  the  enemy  of  Octavius ;  while 
Lepidus  consented  to  the  death  of  his  own  brother  Paulus,  at  the  demand  of  the 
other  two.  They  seemed  to  vie  with  each  other  in  eagerness  to  "prick,"  or  mark 
for  slaughter,  their  relatives  and  friends. 

Antony.  These  many  then  shall  die  ;  their  names  are  pricked. 
Octavhis.  Your  brother  too  must  die  :  consent  you,  Lepidus  ? 
Lepidtis.    I  do  consent  — 

Octavius.  Prick  him  down,  Antony. 

Lepidus.    Upon  condition  Publius  shall  not  live, 
Who  is  your  sister's  son,  Mark  Antony. 

Antony.    He  shall  not  live  ;  look,  with  a  spot  I  damn  him. 


More  than  three   hundred  of  the  leading  citizens  of  Rome  fell  by  this  bloody 
proscription. 

The  fugitive  conspirators  were  scattered  over  the  empire.  Brutus  and  Cassius, 
however,  had  bent  all  their  energies  to  the  raising  of  an  army,  and  it  was  needful 
for  the  Triumvirate  to  form  a  strong  alliance,  if  they  hoped  to  hold  securely  all 
they  had  won  at  such  a  fearful  cost.  By  their  abuse  of  power  they  soon  made 
themselves  very  odious  at  Rome,  and  were  not  at  peace  among  themselves. 
Each  was  jealous  and  envious  of  the  others.  Some  sort  of  division,  however, 
was  at  last  made  of  the  army  and  treasure.     Lepidus  remained  at  Rome  to  take 


204  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 

care  of  public  affairs,  while  Antony  and  Octavius  Caesar  went  to  Macedonia  to 
meet  the  two  leading  tyrant-killers  (as  they  would  fain  be  called),  and  the  force 
they  had  amassed. 

These  two  had  fled  from  Italy  secretly  and  alone,  without  money,  without  arms, 
without  a  ship,  a  soldier,  or  a  place  of  refuge ;  but  the  ability  of  Cassius  and  the 
virtue  of  Brutus  had  drawn  many  to  their  standards,  and  they  were  now  in  condi- 
tion to  contend  for  the  empire  of  Italy.  Cassius  was  more  grasping  in  his  nature 
than  Brutus,  who  seemed  to  care  little  for  wealth,  save  to  advance  the  cause  and 
pay  his  soldiers,  to  whom  he  was  always  kind  and  generous.  Cassius  demanded 
heavy  ransoms  for  his  prisoners,  and  laid  heavy  fines  on  conquered  cities,  while 
Brutus  released  thousands  without  ransom  or  condition.  This  course  greatly 
increased  the  popularity  of  Brutus,  and  city  after  city  surrendered  to  him  without 
a  struggle. 

Cassius  had  gotten  vast  treasure,  some  of  which  Brutus  wished  to  borrow  in 
order  to  pay  his  soldiers.  Cassius  sent  him  a  small  amount,  but  so  reluctantly 
that,  to  the  sensitive  nature  of  Brutus,  the  consent  differed  little  from  a  denial. 
Brutus  had  also  condemned  and  disgraced  an  officer  of  Cassius's  command  for 
taking  bribes.  From  these  causes  a  coolness  had  arisen  between  the  two  friends 
which  Brutus  felt  keenly.  The  very  courtesies  which  Cassius  used  toward  him,  in 
place  of  the  old  familiar  ways,  were  in  his  eyes  evidence  of  cooling  friendship. 

"  When  love  begins  to  sicken  and  decay, 
It  useth  an  enforced  ceremony." 

Brutus,  however,  was  unwilling  to  have  the  soldiers  suspect  a  quarrel  between 
their  generals ;  and  when,  on  a  certain  occasion,  Cassius  came  to  the  camp  of 
Brutus,  and  began  to  complain,  — 

"  Most  noble  brother,  you  have  done  me  wrong,  —  " 

he  commanded  the  soldiers  and  servants  to  withdraw.  "  Cassius,"  he  said,  "  let 
us  not  wrangle  here  before  the  eyes  of  our  armies,  which  should  perceive  nothing 
but  love  between  us  ;  here  in  my  tent  you  shall  speak  freely  all  your  griefs,  and  I 
will  give  you  audience." 

Then  the  forces  of  both  generals  were  removed  to  a  distance,  and  guards  were 
set  to  prevent  all  approach  to  the  tent  of  Brutus ;  and  Cassius  thus  freely  poured 
out  his  feelings  :  — 

That  you  have  wronged  me  doth  appear  in  this  : 
You  have  condemned  and  noted '  Lucius  Pella 
For  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians  ; 
Wherein  my  letters,  praying  on  his  side, 
Because  I  knew  the  man,  were  slighted  off. 


Marked,  disgraced. 


JULIUS    CiESAR.  205 

Brutus.    You  wronged  yourself  to  write  in  such  a  case. 

Cassius.    In  such  a  time  as  this,  it  is  not  meet 
That  every  nice  l  offence  should  bear  its  comment. 

Brutus.    Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 
Are  much  condemned  to  have  an  itching  palm  ; 
To  sell  and  mart  2  your  offices  for  gold 
To  undeservers. 

Cassius.  I  an  itching  palm  ? 

You  know  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this, 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  were  else  your  last. 

Brutus.    The  name  of  Cassius  honors  this  corruption. 
And  chastisement  does  therefore  hide  its  head. 

Cassius.    Chastisement  ! 

Brutus.    Remember  March,  the  ides  of  March  remember. 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake  ? 
What  villain  a  touched  his  body,  that  did  stab, 
And  not  for  justice  ?     What !  shall  one  of  us, 
That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world, 
But  for  supporting  robbers,*  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes, 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honors 
For  so  much  trash  as  may  be  grasped  thus  ? 
I  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  3  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Cassius.  Brutus,  bay  not  me, 

I  '11  not  endure  it  :  you  forget  yourself, 
To  hedge  me  in.     I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions.0 

Brutus.  [Come,  come]  ;  you  are  not,  Cassius. 

Cassius.    I  am. 

Brutus.    I  say,  you  are  not. 

Cassius.    Urge  me  no  more,  I  shall  forget  myself  : 
Have  mind  upon  your  health  ;  tempt  me  no  farther. 

Brutus.    Away,  slight  man  ! 

Cassius.    Is  't  possible  ? 

Brutus.  Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. 

Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler  ? 
Shall  I  be  frighted,  when  a  madman  stares  ? 

1  Petty.  2  Trade.  3  Bark  at. 

a  That  is,  Who  of  all  those  who  touched  his  body  was  such  a  villain  as  to  stab  for  anything 
else  than  justice  ? 

b  The  Roman  empire  was  full  of  office-holders  who  in  various  ways  robbed  and  despoiled 
the  people  of  the  provinces  they  were  sent  to  govern.  Caesar  did  not  soil  his  own  fingers 
with  such  crimes,  but  it  was  charged  that  he  sustained  and  favored  those  who  did. 

c   To  make  conditions  —  That  is,  settlements  of  all  kinds,  involving  questions  of  money. 


206         SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Cassius.    O  ye  gods  !  ye  gods  !     Must  I  endure  all  this  ? 

Brutus.    All  this  ?  ay,  more.     Fret,  till  your  proud  heart  break  ; 
Go,  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are, 
And  make  your  bondmen  tremble.     Must  I  budge  ?a 
Must  I  observe  ;l  you  ?     Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humor  ?     By  the  gods, 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen,b 
Though  it  do  split  you  ;  for,  from  this  day  forth, 
I  '11  use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea,  for  my  laughter, 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Cassius.  Is  it  come  to  this  ? 

Brutus.    You  say,  you  are  a  better  soldier  : 
Let  it  appear  so  ;  make  your  vaunting  true, 
And  it  shall  please  me  well.     For  mine  own  part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  abler  men. 

Cassius.    You  wrong  me  every  way  ;  you  wrong  me,  Brutus  ; 
I  said,  an  older  soldier,  not  a  better  : 
Did  I  say  better  ? 

Brutus.  If  you  did,  I  care  not. 

Cassius.    When  Caesar  lived,  he  durst  not  thus  have  moved  me. 

Brutus.    Peace,  peace  !  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted  him. 

Cassius.    I  durst  not  ? 

Brutus.    No. 

Cassius.    What  !  durst  not  tempt  him  ? 

Brutus.  For  your  life  you  durst  not. 

Cassius.    Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love  ; 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for. 

Brutus.    You  have  done  that  you  shotild  be  sorry  for. 
There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats, 
For  I  am  armed  so  strong  in  honesty, 
That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind, 
Which  I  [regard]  not.     I  did  send  to  you 
For  certain  sums  of  gold,  which  you  denied  me  ; 
For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means : 
By  heaven,  I  had  rather  coin  my  heart, 
And  drop  my  blood  for  drachmas,  than  to  wring 
From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash, 
By  any  indirection.1     I  did  send 
To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions, 
Which  you  denied  me  :  was  that  done  like  Cassius  ? 
Should  I  have  answered  Caius  Cassius  so  ? 
When  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous, 

1  Dishonest  practice. 
a  That  is,  Must  I  give  way  to  you  ?     Must  I  pay  you  reverential  attention  ? 
b  The  spleen  used  to  be  regarded  as  the  seat  of  every  sudden  passion.     This  means,  You 
shall  swallow  the  poison  of  your  own  anger. 


JULIUS    CAESAR.  207 

To  lock  such  rascal  counters  !l  from  his  friends, 
Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts 
Dash  him  to  pieces  ! 

Cassius.  I  denied  you  not. 

Brutus.    You  did. 

Casshis. .  I  did  not :   he  was  but  a  fool, 

That  brought  my  answer  back.  —  Brutus  hath  [broke]  my  heart : 
A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities, 
But  Brutus  makes  mine  greater  than  they  are. 

Brutus.    I  do  not,  till  you  practise  them  on  me. 

Cassius.    You  love  me  not. 

Brutus.  I  do  not  like  your,  faults. 

Cassius.    A  friendly  eye  could  never  see  such  faults. 

Brutus.    A  flatterer's  would  not,  though  they  did  appear 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus. 

Cassius.    Come,  Antony,  and  young  Octavius,  come, 
Revenge  yourselves  alone  on  Cassius, 
For  Cassius  is  aweary  of  the  world  : 
Hated  by  one  he  loves  ;  braved  by  his  brother  ; 
Checked  like  a  bondman  ;  all  his  faults  observed, 
Set  in  a  note-book,  learned,  and  conned  by  rote, 
To  cast  into  my  teeth.     O,  I  could  weep 
My  spirit  from  mine  eyes  !  —  There  is  my  dagger, 
And  here  my  naked  breast ;  within,  a  heart 
Dearer  than  Plutus'b  mine,  richer  than  gold  : 
If  that  thou  be'st  a  Roman,  take  it  forth  ; 
I,  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart. 
Strike,  as  thou  didst  at  Caesar  ;  for  I  know, 
When  thou  didst  hate  him  worst,  thou  lovedst  him  better 
Than  ever  thou  lovedst  Cassius. 

Brutus.  Sheathe  your  dagger. 

Be  angry  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope  ; 
Do  what  you  will,  dishonor  shall  be  humor." 
O  Cassius  !  you  are  yoked  with  a  lamb, 
That  carries  anger  as  the  flint  bears  fire,d 
Who,  much  enforced,  shows  a  hasty  spark, 
And  straight  is  cold  again. 

Cassius.  Hath  Cassius  lived 

a  Rascal  counters — It  is  about  the  same  as  if  Brutus  had  said  "dirty  money  ";  though 
counters  were  not  money  at  all,  but  only  round  pieces  of  metal  used  in  calculating. 

b  Plutus  was  the  god  of  riches. 

0  That  is, Whatever  indignity  you  may  hereafter  offer  me  I  will  regard  but  as  the  whim  of 
the  moment. 

4  In  Shakespeare's  time,  the  fire  that  was  produced  by  the  striking  of  the  steel  against 
the  flint  was  supposed  to  be  struck  out  of  the  stone,  instead  of  from  the  metal,  as  we  now  know 
it  to  be. 


208  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 

To  be  but  mirth  and  laughter  to  his  Brutus, 
When  grief  and  blood  ill-tempered  vexeth  him  ? 

Brutus.    When  I  spoke  that,  I  was  ill-tempered  too. 

Cassius.    Do  you  confess  so  much  ?     Give  me  your  hand. 

Brutus.    And  my  heart  too. 

Cassius.  O  Brutus  !  — 

Brutus.  What 's  the  matter  ? 

Cassius.    Have  you  not  love  enough  to  bear  with  me, 
When  that  rash  [temper]  which  my  mother  gave  me 
Makes  me  forgetful  ? 

Brutus.  Yes,  Cassius  ;  and  henceforth, 

When  you  are  over-earnest  with  your  Brutus, 
He'll  think  your  mother  chides,  and  leave  you  so. 

After  having  given  orders  for  the  army  to  be  encamped  for  the  night,  and  for 
a  council  of  officers  to  come  to  his  tent,  Brutus  called  to  Lucius  to  bring  a  bowl  of 
wine.     Then  Cassius  said,  — 

I  did  not  think  you  could  have  been  so  angry. 

Brutus.    O  Cassius,  I  am  sick  of  many  griefs. 

Cassius.    Of  your  philosophy  you  make  no  use 
If  you  give  [way]  to  accidental  evils. a 

Brutus.    No  man  bears  sorrow  better.     Portia  is  dead. 

Cassius.    Ha  !  Portia  ! 

Brutus.    She  is  dead. 

Cassius.    How  'scaped  I  killing,  when  I  crossed  you  so  ? 
O  insupportable  and  touching  loss  !  — 
Upon  what  sickness  ? 

Brutus.  Impatience  of  my  absence, 

And  grief  that  young  Octavius  with  Mark  Antony 
Have  made  themselves  so  strong  ;  —  for  with  her  death 
That  tidings  came  ;  —  with  this  she  fell  distract,b 
And,  her  attendants  absent,  swallowed  fire. 

Cassius.    And  died  so  ? 

Brutus.    Even  so. 

Cassius.    O  ye  immortal  gods  ! 

Brutus.    Speak  no  more  of  her. 

Then  Brutus  took  a  bowl  of  wine,  and,  drinking,  said,  — 

In  this  I  bury  all  unkindness,  Cassius. 

Cassius.    My  heart  is  thirsty  for  that  noble  pledge.  — 

a  That  is,  to  evils  that  cannot  be  avoided. 
b  Distracted  ;  that  is,  became  crazed. 


JULIUS    OESAR.  209 


Fill,  Lucius,  till  the  wine  o'erswell  the  cup  ; 
I  cannot  drink  too  much  of  Brutus'  love. 

Titinius  and  Messala,  two  officers  of  the  army,  now  entered  the  tent  to  attend 
the  council  of  war.  Letters  from  Rome,  received  by  various  persons,  were  com- 
pared, and  found  to  confirm  the  rumors  of  Portia's  death  and  the  troubled  state 
of  affairs  at  home.  Cicero  had  been  put  to  death,  and  many  senators  beside,  by 
the  arbitrary  command  of  the  Triumvirate.  Octavius  and  Antony  with  a  mighty 
army  —  the  very  army  with  which  Caesar  conquered  Gaul  —  were  marching  down 
toward  Philippi  to  avenge  their  murdered  general.  Brutus  was  for  going  at  once 
to  meet  them.     He  inquired  of  Cassius,  — 

What  do  you  think 
Of  marching  to  Philippi  presently  ? 

Cassius.    I  do  not  think  it  good. 

Brutus.  Your  reason  ? 

Cassius.  This  it  is. 

'T  is  better  that  the  enemy  seek  us  : 
So  shall  he  waste  his  means,  weary  his  soldiers, 
Doing  himself  [a  harm]  ;  whilst  we,  lying  still, 
Are  full  of  rest,  defence,  and  nimbleness. 

Brutus.    Good  reasons  must,  of  force,  give  place  to  better. 
The  people  'twixt  Philippi  and  this  ground 
Do  stand  but  in  a  forced  affection, 
For  they  have  grudged  us  contribution  : 
The  enemy,  marching  along  bya  them, 
Bya  them  shall  make  a  fuller  number  up, 
Come  on  refreshed,  new-hearted,  and  encouraged  ; 

a  By  is  here  used  in  two  senses.  The  meaning  of  the  passage  is  clear  enough :  The 
enemy,  marching  alongside  of  these  towns,  by  means  of  their  inhabitants  shall  become  stronger 
in  numbers.     See  note  on  page  188  ("By  Caesar  and  by  you  cut  off  "). 


2IO  SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE    YOUNG    FOLK. 

From  which  advantage  we  shall  cut  him  off, 
If  at  Philippi  we  do  face  him  there, 
These  people  at  our  back. 

Cassius.  Hear  me,  good  brother. 

Brutus.    Under  your  pardon.*  —  You  must  note  beside, 
That  we  have  tried  the  utmost  of  our  friends. 
Our  legions  are  brimful],  our  cause  is  ripe  : 
The  enemy  increaseth  every  day ; 
We,  at  the  height,  are  ready  to  decline. 
There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune. 
On  such  a  full  sea  are  we  now  afloat, 
And  we  must  take  the  current  when  it  serves, 
Or  lose  our  ventures.11 

Casshis.  Then,  with  your  will,c  go  on  : 

i         We  will  ourselves  [march  on],  and  meet  them  at  Philippi. 

Thus  once  again,  under  the  strong  personal  influence  of  Brutus,  Cassius  yields 
his  better  judgment ;  and  the  generals  part,  to  take  some  rest  before  the  dawning 
of  that  morrow  on  whose  events  the  fate  of  the  world  depends.  They  parted  in 
friendship.  The  old  confidence  and  love  had  returned  in  more  than  its  original 
force,  and  they  were  happy. 

"  Noble,  noble  Cassius,"  said  Brutus,  "  good  night,  and  good  repose." 

Cassuts.  O  my  dear  bixither  ! 

This  was  an  ill  beginning  of  the  night. 
Never  come  such  division  'tween  our  souls  ! 
Let  it  not,  Brutus. 

Brutus.  Everything  is  well. 

Cassius.    Good  night,  my  lord. 

Brutus.  Good  night,  good  brother. 

The  other  officers  bid  "  lord  Brutus  "  farewell,  and  in  another  moment  all 
is  quiet.  Then  the  general  calls  the  drowsy  Lucius  to  bring  his  dressing-gown. 
When  the  lad  enters  with  the  gown,  Brutus  asks  him,  — 

Where  is  thy  instrument  ? 

Lucius.    Here  in  the  tent. 

Brutus.  What  !  thou  speak'st  drowsily  ? 

Poor  [boy],  I  blame  thee  not  ;  thou  art  o'er-watched.1 


1  Worn  out  with  watching. 
That  is,  by  your  leave :  let  me  speak. 

Venttires  is  whatever  is  put  on  board  ship  in  hope  of  profit. 
With  your  will  —  As  you  say. 


JULIUS    CjESAR.  2  1  I 

Call  Claudius,  and  some  other  of  my  men ; 
I  '11  have  them  sleep  on  cushions  in  my  tent. 
Lucius.    Varro,  and  Claudius  ! 

Enter  Varro  and  Claudius. 

Varro.    Calls  my  lord  ? 

Brutus.    I  pray  you,  sirs,  lie  in  my  tent,  and  sleep : 
It  may  be,  I  shall  [call]  you  by  and  by, 
On  business  to  my  brother  Cassius. 

Varro.    So  please  you,  we  will  stand,  and  watch  your  pleasure. 

Brutus.    I  will  not  have  it  so  ;  lie  down,  good  sirs  : 
It  may  be,  I  shall  otherwise  bethink  me.  {Servants  lie  down. 

Look,  Lucius,  here  's  the  book  I  sought  for  so  ; 
I  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  my  gown. 

Lucius.    I  was  sure   your  lordship  did  not  give  it  me. 

Brutus.    Bear  with  me,  good  boy,  I  am  much  forgetful. 
Canst  thou  hold  up  thy  heavy  eyes  awhile, 
And  touch  thy  instrument  a  strain  or  two  ? 

Lucius.    Ay,  my  lord,  if  it  please  you. 

Brutus.  It  does,  my  boy. 

I  trouble  thee  too  much,  but  thou  art  willing. 

Lucius.    It  is  my  duty,  sir. 

Brutus.    I  should  not  urge  thy  duty  past  thy  might : 
I  know,  young  [folk]  look  for  a  time  of  rest. 

Lticius.    I  have  slept,  my  lord,  already. 

Brzitus.    It  was  well  done,  and  thou  shalt  sleep  again ; 
I  will  not  [keep]  thee  long  ;  if  I  do  live, 
I  will  be  good  to  thee. 

Lucius  sweeps  his  faltering  hand  over  the  strings  of  the  lute,  and  begins  to 
sing ;  but  nature  is  too  strong  for  him,  his  words  come  more  and  more  faintly,  his 
eyes  sink  slowly,  and  at  length  he  fairly  drops  asleep.  Then  gently  his  master 
rises,  takes  the  lute  from  his  loosening  fingers,  composes  his  limbs  to  sleep  more 
comfortably,  and  turns  —  scholar  and  book-lover  that  he  is  —  to  read  by  the  dim 

taper  in  his  tent. 

Gentle  [lad],  good  night ; 
I  will  not  do  thee  so  much  wrong  to  wake  thee. 
If  thou  dost  nod,  thou  break'st  thy  instrument  : 
I  '11  take  it  from  thee  ;  and,  good  boy,  good  night.  — 
Let  me  see,  let  me  see  :  is  not  the  leaf  turned  down, 
Where  I  left  reading?     Here  it  is,  I  think. 

\_He  throws  himself  on  a  couch  to  read. 

Enter  the  Ghost  0/"Oesar. 
How  ill  this  taper  burns. a  —  Ha!  who  comes  here  ? 
I  think  it  is  the  weakness  of  mine  eyes 

»  In  all  properly  told  ghost  stories  the  lights  burn  dimly  as  the  spectre  approaches. 


212 


SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK, 


That  shapes  this  monstrous  apparition. 
It  comes  upon  me.  —  Art  thou  anything  ? 
Art  thou  some  god,  some  angel,  or  some  devil, 
That  mak'st  my  blood  cold,  and  my  hair  to  [stand] . 
Speak  to  me  what  thou  art. 

Ghost.    Thy  evil  spirit,  Brutus. 

Brutus.  Why  com'st  thou  ? 

Ghost.    To  tell  thee  thou  shalt  see  me  at  Philippi. 

Brutus.    Well  ;  then  I  shall  see  thee  again  ? 

Ghost.  AY>  at  Philippi- 

[Ghost  vanishes- 


JULIUS    CESAR.  213 

Brutus.    Why,  I  will  see  thee  at  Philippi  then.  — 
Now  I  have  taken  heart,  thou  vanishest : 
111  spirit,  I  would  hold  more  talk  with  thee.  — 
Boy  !   Lucius  !  —  Varro  !  Claudius  !   Sirs,  awake  !  — 
Claudius ! 

Ltiches  \half-waking\.    The  strings,  my  lord,  are  false. 

Brutus.    He  thinks  he  still  is  at  his  instrument.  — 
Lucius,  awake  ! 

Lucius.    My  lord  ? 

Brutus.    Didst  thou  dream,  Lucius,  that  thou  so  criedst  out  ? 

Lucius.    My  lord,  I  do  not  know  that  I  did  cry. 

Brutus.    Yes,  that  thou  didst.     Didst  thou  see  anything  ? 

Lucius.    Nothing,  my  lord. 

Brutus.    Sleep  again,  Lucius.  —  Sirrah   Claudius  ! 
\To  Varro.]  Fellow  thou,  awake  ! 

Varro.    My  lord  ? 

Claudius.    My  lord  ? 

Brtitus.    Why  did  you  so  cry  out,  sirs,  in  your  sleep  ? 

Varro,  Claudius.    Did  we,  my  lord  ? 

Brutus.  '  Ay :  saw  you  anything  ? 

Varro.    No,  my  lord,  I  saw  nothing. 

Claudius.  Nor  I,  my  lord. 

Brutus.    Go,  and  commend  me  to  my  brother  Cassius  : 
Bid  him  [at  earliest  morn  march  on]  before, 
And  we  will  follow. 

Varro,  Claudius.     It  shall  be  done,  my  lord. 

Brutus  had  made  these  inquiries  of  his  servants  probably  to  discover  if  the 
vision  had  appeared  to  any  other  than  himself.  From  their  replies  he  might  have 
guessed  that  the  fearful  phantom  was  born  in  his  own  brain,  overstrained  with 
cares,  a  heart  weighted  with  grief  for  his  dear  Portia,  and  a  conscience  which  could 
not  but  upbraid  him  with  having  murdered  his  best  friend.  And  yet,  in  a  very 
important  sense,  the  spirit  of  Caesar  still  really  walked  abroad.  The  Roman  people 
worshipped  his  memory.  They  said  he  was  a  god,  and  had  gone  back  to  heaven  ; 
and  they  fancied  they  could  see  his  star  ascending  the  skies.  The  legions  that  had 
followed  him  alive  to  so  many  victories  were  still  faithful  to  his  eagle  standards, 
now  that  he  was  dead,  and  were  hastening  to  avenge  him.  All  the  conspirators 
died  miserable  deaths  in  exile  :  it  was  as  though  the  spirit  of  their  victim  had 
turned  back  their  murderous  swords  into  their  own  bowels.  What  happened  to 
the  most  illustrious  of  them,  we  are  now  to  see. 


X. 


Act  V. 

^ROM  Sardis  the  armies  of  Brutus  and  Cassius  marched  to 
Philippi.  On  one  side  of  the  plains  of  Philippi  were  encamped 
the  armies  of  Octavius  and  Antony ;  the  camp  of  Cassius  was 
opposite  Antony's,  and  that  of  Brutus  was  opposite  the  young 
Caesar's.     The  hostile  forces  were  nearly  equal  in  numbers. 

Brutus  was  anxious  for  immediate  battle,  that  he  might 
free  his  country,  and  put  an  end  to  the  toils  and  expenses  of 
war ;  besides,  he  felt  that  the  patriot  army  was  as  powerful  now  as  it  would  ever 
be,  and  that  delays  would  weaken  rather  than  strengthen  it.  Cassius,  on  account 
of  many  bad  omens  which  had  disheartened  the  soldiers,  wished  to  postpone  the 
contest  till  a  more  favorable  moment ;  but  the  counsel  of  Brutus  prevailed.  The 
scarlet  robes,  the  signal  for  battle,  were  hung  out  on  the  tents  of  Brutus  and  Cas- 
sius :  the  two  friends  gave  each  other  the  farewell  embrace  in  the  presence  of 
the  armies. 

A  brief  parley  was  sounded,  and  out  from  the  opposing  camps  came  the  gen- 
erals to  hold  a  conference.     Brutus  began  rather  sarcastically,  — 

Words  before  blows  :  is  it  so,  countrymen  ? 

Octavius.    Not  that  we  love  words  better,  as  you  do. 

Brutus.    Good  words  are  better  than  bad  strokes,  Octavius. 

Antony.    In  your  bad  strokes,  Brutus,  you  give  good  words  : 
Witness  the  hole  you  made  in  Caesar's  heart,  . 

Crying,  "  Long  live  !  hail,  Caesar!" 

This  reproach  aroused  Cassius,  who  interposed,  saying,  "  Antony,  the  place 
where  your  blows  fall  is  yet  to  be  known.  As  for  your  words,"  referring  to  the 
cunning  speech  Antony  had  made  to  the  Romans  in  the  Forum,  "they  have 
robbed  the  very  honey  from  the  bees." 

"  Yes,"  said  Brutus,  "  and  their  noise  besides  ;  "  adding, — 


JULIUS    C^SAR.  215 

For  you  have  stolen  their  buzzing,  Antony, 
And  very  wisely  threat  before  you  sting. 

Antony.    Villains,  you  did  so  when  your  vile  daggers 
Hacked  one  another  in  the  sides  of  Caesar : 
You  showed  your  teeth  like  apes,  and  fawned  like  hounds, 
And  bowed  like  bondmen,  kissing  Caesar's  feet ; 
Whilst  damned  Casca,  like  a  cur,  behind, 
Struck  Caesar  on  the  neck.     O  flatterers  ! 

Cassius.    Flatterers  !  —  Now,  Brutus,  thank  yourself  ; 
This  tongue  had  not  offended  so  to-day, 
If  Cassius  might  have  ruled. 

Here  Octavius  interrupted  :  "  Come,  come,  instead  of  arguing  our  cause  until 
we  sweat,  let  us  do  something  for  it  that  will  bring  forth  redder  drops."  Then, 
drawing  his  sword,  he  exclaimed,  — ■ 

Look, — 

I  draw  a  sword  against  conspirators  : 

When  think  you  that  the  sword  goes  up  again  ? 

Never,  till  Caesar's  three-and-twenty  wounds 

Be  well  avenged  ;  or  till  another  Caesar 

Have  added  slaughter  to  the  sword  of  traitors.11 

Brutus.    Caesar,  thou  canst  not  die  by  traitors'  hands 
Unless  thou  bring'st  them  with  thee. 

0£tavius.  So  I  hope  ; 

I  was  not  born  to  die  on  Brutus'  sword. 

Brutus.    O,  if  thou  wert  the  noblest  of  thy  [race], 
Young  man,  thou  couldst  not  die  more  honorably. 

Cassius.    A  [foolish]  schoolboy,  worthless  of  such  honor, 
Joined  with  a  masker  and  a  reveller ! 

Antony  {sneering].     Old  Cassius  still ! 

Octavius.  Come,  Antony ;  away  ! 

TJefiance,  traitors,  hurl  we  in  your  teeth  : 
If  you  dare  fight  to-day,  come  to  the  field. 

Here  the  generals  ceased  disputing,  and  repaired  to  their  several  camps,  to 
make  ready  for  still  warmer  work. 

Brutus  and  Cassius  then  reasoned  together  about  what  they  would  do  in  case 
the  worst  should  happen.     Cassius  said,  — 

If  we  do  lose  this  battle,  then  is  this 

The  very  last  time  we  shall  speak  together. 

What  are  you  then  determined  to  do  ? 

Brutus  replied,  "  I  shall  arm  myself  with  patience  to  await  the  providence  of 
some  high  powers  that  govern  us  below." 

a  Till  another  Caesar  (that  is,  himself)  had  been  slaughtered  by  the  same  traitorous 
swords  that  had  slain  the  first. 


2l6 


SHAKESPEARE    FOR   THE   YOUNG    FOLK. 


Cassius.  Then  if  we  lose  this  battle, 
You  are  contented  to  be  led  in  triumph 
Thorough  x  the  streets  of  Rome  ? 

Brutus.    No,  Cassius,  no  :  think  not,  thou  noble  Roman, 
That  ever  Brutus  will  go  bound  to  Rome ; 
He  bears  too  great  a  mind.     But  this  same  day 
Must  end  that  work  the  ides  of  March  began, 
And  whether  we  shall  meet  again,  I  know  not. 
Therefore,  our  everlasting  farewell  take:  — 
Forever,  and  forever,  farewell,  Cassius. 
If  we  do  meet  again,  why,  we  shall  smile  ; 
If  not,  why,  then  this  parting  was  well  made. 

Cassius.    Forever,  and  forever,  farewell,  Brutus  ! 
If  we  do  meet  again,  we  '11  smile  indeed  ; 
If  not,  't  is  true  this  parting  was  well  made. 

Brutus.    Why,  then  lead  on.  —  O,  that  a  man  might  know 
The  end  of  this  day's  business  ere  it  come  ! 
But  it  sufficeth  that  the  day  will  end, 
And  then  the  end  is  known.  —  Come.,  ho  !  away  ! 


The  command  of  the  right  wing  had  been  given  to  Brutus  at  his  request,  though 
it  properly  belonged  to  Cassius,  who  was  the  older  and  more  experienced  soldier. 
Brutus,  in  his  desire  to  bring  the  battle  to  a  speedy  close,  and  thinking,  too,  that 
he  saw  signs  of  weakness  in  Caesar's  camp,  sent  bills  (or  messages)  by  Messala  to 
the  different  commanders,  ordering  an  attack  by  all  at  once  at  a  given  signal :  — 

Ride,  ride,  Messala,  ride,  and  give  these  bills 
Unto  the  lesfions  on  the  other  side.1 


1  Through. 
That  is,  those  commanded  by  Cassius;  the  left  wing,  in  fact,  of  the  army. 


JULIUS    C^SAR.  217 

Let  them  [attack]  at  once  ;  for  I  perceive 
But  cold  demeanor  in  Octavius'  wing, 
And  sudden  push  gives  them  the  overthrow. 
Ride,  ride,  Messala  :  let  them  all  come  down. 

Then  the  battalions  of  Brutus  fell  precipitately  on  Caesar's  camp,  and,  after  some 
repulses,  won  a  complete  victory  on  that  side  of  the  field. 

But,  instead  of  pursuing  their  advantage,  the  soldiers  fell  to  despoiling  the  tents 
of  the  opposite  camp.  Meanwhile  Cassius,  whose  troops  were  opposed  to  those 
of  Antony,  was  confused  by  the  sudden  movement  of  Brutus,  and  speedily  found 
himself  so  hard  pressed  by  Antony's  forces  that  his  horsemen  broke  and  fled,  and 
his  footmen  began  to  give  way.  Cassius  did  what  he  could  to  stem  the  tide  of 
retreat.  He  even  snatched  a  standard  from  a  flying  ensign,  and  slew  the  coward 
who  was  carrying  it  from  the  fight.  But  all  was  in  vain,  and,  accompanied  by 
Titinius,  his  trusted  lieutenant,  he  withdrew  to  a  little  hill,  from  which  he  might 
look  down  upon  the  plain. 

Cassius.    O,  look,  Titinius,  look  !  the  villains  fly. 
Myself  have  to  mine  own  turned  enemy : 
This  ensign  here  of  mine  was  turning  back  ; 
I  slew  the  coward,  and  did  take  it  from  him. 

Titinius.    O  Cassius  !  Brutus  gave  the  word  too  early ; 
Who,  having  some  advantage  on  Octavius, 
Took  it  too  eagerly ;  his  soldiers  fell  to  spoil, 
Whilst  we  by  Antony  are  all  enclosed. 

The  noise  of  the  battle  seemed  to  be  drawing  nearer,  and  presently  Pindarus, 
the  bondman  of  Cassius,  rushed  in,  crying,  — 

Fly  farther  off.  my  lord,  fly  farther  off; 
Mark  Antony  is  in  your  tents,  my  lord  : 
Fly,  therefore,  noble  Cassius,  fly  far  off. 

Cassius.    This  hill  is  far  enough.     Look,  look,  Titinius  ; 
Are  those  my  tents  where  I  perceive  the  fire  ? 

Titinius.    They  are,  my  lord. 

Cassius.  Titinius,  if  thou  lov'st  me, 

Mount  thou  my  horse,  and  hide  thy  spurs  in  him, 
Till  he  have  brought  thee  up  to  yonder  troops, 
And  here  again  ;  that  I  may  rest  assured 
Whether  yon  troops  are  friend  or  enemy. 

Titinius.    I  will  be  here  again,  even  with  a  thought. 

Titinius  sprang  upon  the  horse,  and  spurred  toward  the  troop  of  horsemen 
that  were  coming  in  the  distance.  Then  Cassius  sent  Pindarus  a  little  higher  on 
the  hill  to  follow  Titinius  with  his  eye,  and  report  to  his  master  what  should  take 
place. 


PINDARUS    REPORTING  TO    CASSIUS. 


Phidarus.    Titinius  is  enclosed  round  about 
With  horsemen  that  make  to  him  on  the  spur. 


JULIUS    CAESAR.  219 

Now  Brutus,  seeing  the  discomfiture  of  Cassius,  had  sent  a  large  detachment 
to  his  aid.  Titinius,  meeting  this  band,  was  received  by  them  with  shouts  of  joy. 
Those  that  knew  him  dismounted  and  embraced  him  as  an  old  friend,  while  others 
rode  round  and  round  with  songs  of  victory  and  the  clashing  of  armor.  All  this 
Pindarus  from  his  look-out  mistook  for  the  clamorous  rejoicing  of  the  enemy  over 
the  capture  of  Titinius,  and  so  reported  to  his  master  below. 

Believing  that  the  day  was  lost,  and  that  his  own  capture  was  certain,  and 
smitten  with  grief  and  remorse  that  he  had  sent  his  dear  friend  to  captivity,  Cassius 
called  back  his  bondman.  When  Pindarus  had  descended,  Cassius  thus  addressed 
him  :  — 

Come  hither,  sirrah. 

In  Parthia  did  I  take  thee  prisoner  ; 

And  then  I  swore  thee,  saving  of  thy  life, 

That  whatsoever  I  did  bid  thee  do, 

Thou  shouldst  attempt  it.     Come  now,  keep  thine  oath. 

[Drawing  his  sword. 

Now  be  a  freeman  :  and  with  this  good  sword, 

That  ran  through  Caesar's  bowels,  search  this  bosom. 

Stand  not  to  answer:  here,  take  thou  the  hilt; 

And  when  my  face  is  covered,  as  't  is  now, 

Guide  thou  the  sword. 

Pindarus  did  as  he  was  bidden.  Cassius  pressed  his  breast  upon  the  sword, 
and  fell,  saying  with  his  parting  breath,  — 

Caesar,  thou  art  revenged, 
Even  with  the  sword  that  killed  thee. 

Pindarus,  knowing  he  was  without  witnesses  that  he  had  done  this  deed  at  his 
master's  bidding,  and  having  some  fears  of  what  might  happen  to  him  in  conse- 
quence, gave  one  mournful  glance  at  the  prostrate  body,  then  fled,  and  was  never 
heard  of  more. 

In  a  few  moments  the  troop  of  horse,  led  by  Messala,  and  bringing  Titinius 
crowned  with  a  garland  which  Brutus  had  given  him  for  Cassius,  came  dashing  up. 
Messala  was  saying,  as  they  dismounted,  — 

'T  is  but  [exchange],  Titinius  ;  -for  Octavius 
Is  overthrown  by  noble  Brutus'  power, 
As  Cassius'  legions  are  by  Antony. 

Titinius.    These  tidings  will  well  comfort  Cassius. 

Messala.    Where  did  you  leave  him  ? 

Titinius.  All  disconsolate 

With  Pindarus,  his  bondman,  on  this  hill. 

Messala.    Is  not  that  he,  that  lies  upon  the  ground  ? 

Titinius.    He  lies  not  like  the  living.  —  O  my  heart ! 

Messala.    Is  not  that  he  ? 

Titinius  \bendi71g  over  the  body\    No,  this  was  he,  Messala, 


220  SHAKESPEARE   FOR   THE   YOUNG   FOLK. 

But  Cassius  is  no  more.  —  O  setting  sun  ! 

As  in  thy  red  rays  thou  dost  sink  to-night, 

So  in  his  red  blood  Cassius'  day  is  set : 

The  sun  of  Rome  is  set.     Our  day  is  gone ; 

Clouds,  dews,  and  dangers  come ;  our  deeds  are  done. 

Mistrust  of  my  success  hath  done  this  deed.  — 

What,  Pindarus  !     Where  art  thou,  Pindarus  ? 

Messala.    Seek  him,  Titinius,  whilst  I  go  to  meet 
The  noble  Brutus,  thrusting  this  report 
Into  his  ears  :  I  may  say,  thrusting  it ; 
For  piercing  steel,  and  darts  envenomed, 
Shall  be  as  welcome  to  the  ears  of  Brutus, 
As  tidings  of  this  sight. 

Titinius.  Hie  you,  Alessala, 

And  I  will  seek  for  Pindarus  the  while. 

When  Messala  had  gone  Titinius  cried  in  anguish,  — 

Why  didst  thou  send  me  forth,  brave  Cassius  ? 

Did  I  not  meet  thy  friends  ?  and  did  not  they 

Put  on  my  brows  this  wreath  of  victory, 

And  bid  me  give  it  thee  ?     Didst  thou  not  hear  their  shouts  ? 

Alas !  thou  hast  misconstrued  everything. 

But  hold  thee  ;  take  this  garland  on  thy  brow  : 

Thy  Brutus  bid  me  give  it  thee,  and  I 

Will  do  his  bidding.    [Puts  the  wreath  on  Cassius5  head.] — Brutus, 

come  apace, 
And  see  how  I  regarded  Caius  Cassius.  — 
By  your  leave,  gods:  — this  is  a  Roman's  part : 
Come,  Cassius'  sword,  and  find  Titinius'  heart. 

Refusing  to  live  when  his  beloved  general  was  no  more,  the  brave  Roman  put 
the  point  of  Cassius'  sword  to  his  breast,  fell  on  it,  and  died. 

Soon  after  Messala  returned,  bringing  with  him  Brutus,  young  Cato.  Strato, 
Volumnius,  and  Lucilius.  Brutus,  looking  for  the  form  of  Cassius,  and  failing  in 
the  confusion  to  discover  it,  asked.  — 

Where,  where,  Messala.  doth  his  body  lie  ? 

Messala.    Lo  !  yonder  :  and  Titinius  mourning  it. 

Brutus.    Titinius'  face  is  upward. 

Cato.  He  is  slain ! 

Brutus.    O  Julius  Caesar !  thou  art  mighty  yet : 
Thy  spirit  walks  abroad,  and  turns  our  swords 
In  our  own  proper  a  entrails. 


*  Proper  here  is  the  same  as  own,  and  the  whole  expression  means  our  own,  own  —  or 
our  very  own  —  entrails. 


JULIUS    C-ESAR.  221 

Cato.  Brave  Titinius  ! 

Look,  [if]  he  have  not  crowned  dead  Cassius  ! 

Brutus.    Are  yet  two  Romans  living  such  as  these  ?  — 
The  last  of  all  the  Romans,  fare  thee  well ! 
It  is  impossible  that  ever  Rome 

Should  breed  thy  fellow.  —  Friends,  I  owe  more  tears 
To  this  dead  man.  than  you  shall  see  me  pay.  — 
I  shall  find  time.  Cassius,  I  shall  find  time.  — 
Come,  therefore,  and  to  Thassos  send  his  body  : 
His  funeral  shall  not  be  in  our  camp. 
Lest  it  [discourage]  us.  —  Lucilius,  come  ;  — 
And  come,  young  Cato  ;  let  us  to  the  field.  — 
Labeo.  and  Flavius.  set  our  [legions]  on  !  — 
'T  is  three  o'clock  ;  and,  Romans,  yet  ere  night 
We  shall  try  fortune  in  a  second  fight. 

Again  the  battle  raged,  the  soldiers  fought  hand  to  hand  in  desperate  conflict, 
and  in  their  midst  fought  Brutus,  Cato.  Lucilius,  and  others.  Brutus,  to  cheer  his 
soldiers,  cried,  — 

Yet.  countrymen,  O.  yet  hold  up  your  heads  ! 

Cato.   What  [coward]  doth  not  ?     Who  will  go  with  me  ? 
I  will  proclaim  my  name  about  the  field.  — 
I  am  the  son  of  Marcus  Cato.  ho  ! 
A  foe  to  tvrants,  and  my  country's  friend. 
I  am  the  son  of  Marcus  Cato,  ho  !  [Rushes  at  the  ene 

Brutus.    And  I  am  Brutus,  Marcus  Brutus.  I  ; 
Brutus,  my  countrv's  friend  :  know  me  for  Brutus. 

Brutus  plunges  into  the  thickest  of  the  fight.  Many  noble  men  gather  round 
to  defend  his  life  by  the  sacrifice  of  their  own.     Cato  is  overpowered  and  falls. 

Lucilius.    O,  voung  and  noble  Cato  !  art  thou  down  ? 
Why,  now  thou  diest  as  bravely  as  Titinius, 
And  may'st  be  honored,  being  Cato's  son. 

A  soldier  with  drawn  sword  springs  toward  him.  crying.  — 

Yield,  or  thou  diest. 

Lucilius.  I  only  yield  to  die.1 

There  is  so  much  that  thou  wilt  kill  me  straight.  [Offering  money. 

Kill  Brutus,  and  be  honored  in  his  death. 

Lucilius  pretended  to  be  Brutus,  thus  hoping  to  gain  time  for  his  chief.  The 
soldiers,  believing  him  to  be  the  real  Brutus,  and  proud  of  their  noble  captive, 
refused  to  kill  him.  "  Tell  Antony,"  they  shouted,  "Brutus  is  taken  !  "  Antony 
arrived. 

1  In  Shakespeare  it  is,  "  Only  I  yield  to  die ;  "  meaning  "  I  yield  only  that  I  may  die." 


Z22  SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Soldiers.    Brutus  is  taken,  Brutus  is  taken,  my  lord. 

Antony.    Where  is  he  ? 

Lucilius.    Safe,  Antony  ;  Brutus  is  safe  enough. 
I  dare  assure  thee  that  no  enemy 
Shall  ever  take  alive  the  noble  Brutus  : 
The  gods  defend  him  from  so  great  a  shame  ! 
When  vou  do  find  him,  or  alive  or  dead, 
He  will  be  found  like  Brutus,  like  himself. 

Antony.   This  is  not  Brutus,  friend;  but,  I  assure  you, 
A  prize  no  less  in  worth.     Keep  this  man  safe, 
Give  him  all  kindness  :   I  had  rather  have 
Such  men  my  friends  'than  enemies.     Go  on, 
And  see  [if]  Brutus  be  alive,  or  dead  ; 
And  bring  us  word  unto  Octavius'  tent 
How  everything  is  chanced. 

When  Brutus,  after  hard  and  desperate  fighting,  found  that  all  hope  of  victory 
was  gone,  he  gathered  the  few  friends  that  yet  remained  to  him,  and,  withdrawing 
a  little  from  the  fight,  sat  down  with  them  upon  a  rock.  Then,  one  by  one,  he 
secretly  entreated  them  to  end  a  life  that  was  now  valueless  to  him.  Clitus  and 
Dardanius  both  refused,  though  they  were  deeply  touched  by  his  great  sorrow. 
Brutus  then  called  Volumnius  aside. 

Brutus.    Come  hither,  good  Volumnius  :  list  a  word. 

Volumnius.    What  says  my  lord? 

Bmtus.  Why,  this,  Volumnius. 

The  ghost  of  Caesar  hath  appeared  to  me 
Two  several  times  by  night:  at  Sardis  once  ; 
And,  this  last  night, a  here  in  Philippi  fields. 
I  know  my  hour  is  come. 

Volumnius.  Not  so,  my  lord. 

Brutus.    Nay,.  I  am  sure  it  is,  Volumnius. 
Thou  seest  the  world,  Volumnius,  how  it  goes  ; 

Our  enemies  have  beat  us  to  the  pit  :      [Sounds  of  battle  drawing  nearer. 
It  is  more  worthy  to  leap  in  ourselves, 
Than  tarry  till  they  push  us.    Good  Volumnius, 
Thou  know'st  that  we  two  went  to  school  together  ; 
Even  for  that  our  love  of  old,  I  pray  thee, 
Hold  thou  my  sword-hilt  whilst  I  run  on  it. 

Volumnius .    That 's  not  an  office  for  a  friend,  my  lord. 

[Sounds  still  approaching. 

Clitus.    Fly,  fly,  my  lord  !  there  is  no  tarrying  here. 

Brutus.    Farewell  to  you  ;  —  and  you;  —  and  you,  Volumnius.  — 

[Shaking  hands  with  each  in  twn. 

a  Plutarch  says :  "  The  battle  being  at  hand,  the  spirit  appeared  again  unto  him,  but  spake 
never  a  word.  Thereupon  Brutus,  knowing  that  he  should  die,  did  put  himself  to  all  hazard 
in  battle,  but  yet  fighting  could  not  be  slain." 


JULIUS    CAESAR.  223 

Strato,  thou  hast  been  all  this  while  asleep  ;  a 

Farewell  to  thee  too,  Strato.  —  Countrymen, 

My  heart  doth  joy,  that  yet  in  all  my  life 

I  found  no  man  but  he  was  true  to  me. 

I  shall  have  glory  by  this  losing  day, 

More  than  Octavius  and  Mark  Antony 

By  their  vile  conquest  shall  attain  unto. 

So,  fare  you  well  at  once  ;  for  Brutus'  tongue 

Hath  almost  ended  his  life's  history. 

Night  hangs  upon  mine  eyes  ;  my  bones  would  rest, 

That  have  but  labored  to  attain  this  hour. 

Brutus  is  naturally  despondent,  and  feels  that  he  has  lived  to  no  purpose  but 
to  die. 

Still  the  sounds  of  alarm  and  confusion  continue  to  draw  nearer.  Voices  are 
heard  without,  exhorting  all  to  escape  for  their  lives.  Clitus  echoes  the  words  : 
"Fly!  fly! 'my  lord,  fly!"  "Hence,  and  I  will  follow,"  answered  Brutus. 
Clitus,  Dardanius,  and  Volumnius  hurried  away.  Only  Strato  remained  with 
Brutus,  who  said  to  him,  — 

I  pr'ythee,  Strato,  stay  thou  by  thy  lord. 
Thou  art  a  fellow  of  a  good  [repute]  ; 
Thy  life  hath  had  some  [taste]  of  honor  in  it  : 
Hold,  then,  my  sword,  and  turn  away  thy  face, 
While  I  do  run  upon  it.     Wilt  thou,  Strato  ? 

Strato.    Give  me  your  hand  first  :  fare  you  well,  my  lord. 

Brutus.    Farewell,  good  Strato.  —  Caesar,  now  be  still : 
I  killed  not  thee  with  half  so  good  a  will.    \_He  runs  on  his  sword,  and  dies. 

The  trumpets  were  sounding  a  retreat,  as  Octavius  and  Antony  and  their  army, 
with  Messala  and  Lucilius  as  prisoners,  entered  that  part  of  the  field.  Octavius, 
seeing  Strato,  asked  of  Messala,  — 

What  man  is  that  ? 

Messala.    My  master's  man.  —  Strato,  where  is  thy  master? 

Strato.    Free  from  the  bondage  you  are  in,  Messala : 
The  conquerors  can  but  make  a  fire  of  him  ; 
For  Brutus  only  overcame  himself, 
And  no  man  else  hath  honor  by  his  death. 

Lucilius.    So  Brutus  should  be  found.  —  I  thank  thee,  Brutus, 
That  thou  hast  proved  Lucilius'  saying  true. 

Octavius.    All  that  served  Brutus  I  will  entertain  them. 
Fellow,  wilt  thou  [take  service  under]  me  ? 

Strato.    Ay,  if  Messala  will  [transfer]  me  to  you. 

Octavius.    Do  so,  good  Messala. 

a  This  little  touch  is  very  lifelike.  They  are  so  battle-worn  and  weary  that  Strato  falls 
asleep  on  the  hard  rock,  with  the  sounds  of  the  conflict  in  his  very  ears. 


224 


SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK. 

Messala.    How  died  my  master,  Strato  ? 
Strato.    I  held  the  sword,  and  he  did  run  on  it. 
Messala.    Octavius,  then  take  him  to  follow  thee 
That  did  the  latest  service  to  my  master. 


Antony.    This  was  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all 
All  the  conspirators,  save  only  he, 
Did  that  they  did  in  envy  of  great  Caesar-, 
He,  only,  in  a  general  honest  thought 
Of  common  good  to  all,  made  one  of  them. 
His  life  was  gentle ;  and  the  elements 
So  mixed  in  him,  that  Nature  might  stand  up, 
And  say  to  all  the  world,  This  was  a  man  ! 

Octavitis.    According  to  his  virtue  let  us  use  him, 
With  all  respect  and  rites  of  burial. 
Within  my  tent  his  bones  to-night  shall  lie, 
Most  like  a  soldier,  ordered  honorably. — 
So,  call  the  [troops]  to  rest ;  and  let 's  away, 
To  [share]  the  glories  of  this  happy  day.